


Messages

by Parker4131970



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Miscarriage, Rape, Rehabilitation, Revenge, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 41,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/Parker4131970
Summary: Inspector Thatcher is severely beaten and left as a message for Fraser to stop working on a Mob case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Bluehaven4220 for beta reading this work. TYK =)

Dief trotted along beside Ben happily, his white tail an erect plume among pedestrians' legs. Ben opened the entrance door to his apartment building for himself but the wolf shot through first, as he always did. He balked just inside.  
Copper.  
The first thing Ben smelled was copper. A second sniff identified it as the sickly smell of blood. Dief barked at a gray lump in the corner. The building manager still hadn't changed the fluorescent bulb overhead.  
Fraser approached the limp form carefully. A weak moan identified it as a person. Quickly, he knelt down and turned the figure over.  
“Dear God,” he breathed. Despite matted hair, a bruised and bloody face, still, he still recognized Inspector Thatcher. Torn and rumpled, her business suit reeked of lake mud.  
“Alert Mr. Mustaffi,” Ben turned to Dief. After the wolf left, he began assessing the Inspector's condition. Her breaths came shallow, her pulse barely registered and she bled from a stab wound to the thigh.  
“Inspector, please,” Fraser urged as he pulled his handkerchief out to staunch the blood. He heard Dief barking and Mr. Mustaffi's heavy footsteps on the stairs.  
“Constable Fraser?” he heard the man call down.  
“Call 9-1-1,” Ben ordered loudly, panic rising in his voice.  
Within minutes Ray arrived, an ambulance not far behind. A singular, red light swirled atop the dashboard of the detective's emerald Buick Riviera.  
Fraser, what's goin' on?” He took one look at Thatcher and swore viciously. EMTs bustled into the entrance, medical kits in hand. Ray pulled Fraser aside once the medics took over. He'd never seen his friend so pale or silent.  
“C'mon, Benny, they'll take good care of her. Tell me what happened.” He distracted the Mountie while the EMTs carefully lifted the Inspector onto a gurney. For a moment he wondered if Fraser would be sick.  
“I found her like that.” Fraser managed, the words sticking in his throat.  
Ray asked a few more questions before uniformed officer arrived, Fraser managing to answer them, but only half paying attention.  
****  
E.R. ….  
Doctors whispered to nurses who then whispered to other nurses until Ben thought he'd lose his mind. Why wouldn't someone tell him about Inspector Thatcher?  
“C'mon, Fraser, let's get a cup of coffee,” Ray suggested. The Mountie had been pacing for hours, not even bothering to wash the Inspector's blood from his hands. The hollow, blank look on his face concerned the detective.  
“No, thank you, Ray,” Fraser answered stiffly, barely pausing.  
“You've been here for hours, you must be hungry.” Ray reasoned, watching his friend continue to pace.  
“No, Ray.” Ben snapped. “No, I'm not hungry, thank you kindly,” he added more softly.  
“Sure,” Ray backed off. Fraser rarely snapped at him.  
“Detective Vecchio?” A nurse spoke quietly, sensing the tension filling the empty waiting room.  
“Yeah,” Ray turned to her in the doorway.  
“This was found among Ms. Thatcher's clothing.” She handed Ray a folded piece of paper in a plastic specimen bag.  
“Okay, thanks.” He waited a second for her to leave before opening the plastic bag.  
“Fingerprints, Ray,” Fraser handed him a pair of exam gloves to use from a nearby box.  
“Yeah, good idea.” He pulled them on before carefully opening the hastily folded paper. Blood stained one corner a mottled red-brown.  
LAY OFF MOUNTIE. NEXT TIME WE'LL GO FOR YOU.  
The author left the note unsigned, their message scrawled across the sheet of lined paper.  
“Wow, looks like someone's gunnin' for the Inspector.” Ray shook his head, scowling.  
Fraser shook his head in response. “No, not the Inspector. They were sending me a warning, Ray.”  
***  
Fraser wouldn't leave the hospital until he'd seen the Inspector for himself. She lay in the hospital bed, a small, pale figure surrounded by machines keeping her alive. They had a white blanket pulled up to her chest. An oxygen mask covered her ashen face and an IV ran into the back of her left arm.  
“She'll be alright, Fraser, she's tough,” Ray said quietly as he stood at the foot of Thatcher's bed.  
“Will she, Ray?” Fraser's jaw worked as he watched her lying there unconscious. He brushed his fingertips over the bruised knuckles of her right hand. It hurt him to think she'd fought so hard and lost.  
“Excuse me, Sir, visiting hours are over.” an older nurse spoke from the doorway.  
“Come on, Fraser, let's get outta here.” Ray took his arm and led him out the door before he could find the words to object.  
***  
Dief circled his dog bed three times before settling down to sleep. Ben dropped onto his cot, exhausted. He hadn't turned on a light or bothered to unfasten his Sam Browne belt. Tears filled his eyes as a sob welled up in his chest. It erupted a strangled cry out of his throat. A moment later the tears fell, racing down his cheeks to make way for more. It hurt to breathe, to live. Pain worse than being betrayed, worse than Ray's bullet, settled behind his heart. Guilt wracked him as he gripped the edge of the bed beneath his legs, knuckles turning red then white.  
“It's my fault, all my fault.” Ben choked out as he let his head hang. Dief whined as he came to stand between Ben's feet. The wolf reared up, putting his front paws on the Mountie's knees. Ben hugged him around the neck and cried into his fur.  
Ben couldn't remember the last time he'd broken down so completely; his grandmother's death perhaps? Margaret, the Inspector, had suffered because of him, his heroics, his dogmatic belief and adherence to the law.  
“She doesn't deserve this.” Ben hugged Dief until the wolf squirmed for air.  
All the wolf could do was lick his human's face and hope the suffering sorrow passed soon. He didn't like the bossy alpha female but respected his human's odd attachment to her. The alpha female had been hurt and that bothered the wolf. The Victoria bitch, on the other hand, hadn’t deserved his human’s tears.  
Ben cried until his throat hurt and his eyes swelled almost together. Dief finally nudged and bullied him to lay down. The wolf lay beside him, a comforter for the few hours the human would sleep  
***


	2. Chapter 2

By six the next morning, Fraser arrived at the Consulate. Flowers and get-well cards awaited. Ben had to swallow a lump and steel himself for the day ahead.  
“Constable Fraser, Sir, I heard the terrible news.” Constable Turnbull met him in the foyer, eyes wide and voice breathless with anxiety. “How is the Inspector?”  
Fraser cleared his throat before he could speak, resisted the urge to run a hand down his face. “The Inspector is in stable condition and is expected to pull through.” It felt like a lie. He wondered when Turnbull would call him on it.  
“That's at least good.” The lanky, blond Mountie frowned as he shook his head at the situation.  
“We have work to attend to, Constable,” Fraser reminded him, cracking his neck as he sometimes did when he was embarrassed or avoiding an uncomfortable conversation. He couldn't talk about Margaret without seeing her broken body on the entrance floor to his apartment.  
“Yes, of course, Ottawa has already called.” Turnbull slipped into his professional mode.  
“When they call again direct them to my office.” Fraser gave him a few other instructions before ushering Dief to his office.  
After a day full of phone calls and paperwork, Fraser met Ray outside the consulate for a ride to the hospital.  
“Sheesh, Fraser, you look like crap.” Ray shook his head.  
“Would you take me to the hospital, Ray?” the Mountie asked politely, ignoring Ray's crassness.  
Ray pulled a U-turn at a red light, barely beating a cement truck turning right at the intersection.  
“Ray, traffic laws are made to help the highway system move smoothly. Running red lights is disruptive,” Ben chided as he held on to the door handle.  
“I knew I could beat 'em. I didn't want to be stuck behind a cement truck for the next six blocks. Relax, Fraser. Have I ever wrecked us?” Ray gestured with his right hand as he weaved between a pickup truck and a Dotson.  
Ray and Fraser were still bickering when they closed and locked the Buick doors in the parking garage.  
Fraser stopped talking altogether when they stepped off the elevator at Meg's floor. Ray noticed how his whole body tensed, his light eyes riveted on the Inspector's room door.  
“You okay, buddy?” Ray spoke quietly when Ben wouldn't budge from the elevator.  
“No, Ray, not in the least.” Fraser shook his head, his jaw tensing.  
“She'll be okay, Fraser,” Ray almost whispered, willing himself to believe the words coming out of his mouth, even if Fraser didn't at the moment. “C'mon, let's go.” He took Fraser by the arm, tugging him back farther into the elevator.  
“No, Ray, I came to see the Inspector.” Fraser shoved his Stetson between the elevator doors, stopping them unexpectedly. He and Ray stepped off and down the hall toward Thatcher's ICU room.  
He walked straight past the nurses' station, intent on his destination.  
“Excuse me, you can't go in there.” A stone faced, older nurse barred the door.  
“Chicago PD, Detective Vecchio.” Ray pulled his badge and shoved it under the nurse's nose. She gave him the stank eye as she stepped aside.  
“Pardon me,” Fraser nodded at her before entering Thatcher's room. He laid his Stetson on a chair a moment before stepping to the Inspector's side. Curtained off, the other bed stood empty, ready for another patient.  
Ray stood in the doorway, watching. From the grim line of his mouth to the way his head hung, Ray finally saw his friend's pain. He knew the Mountie and Thatcher had a thing going but he didn't realize how deeply Fraser cared.  
“Constable Fraser?” a crisp voice startled Ray who stood up straight.  
“Nah, over there.” Ray motioned with his thumb toward Fraser. A serious faced, young brunette stepped past Vecchio.  
She's so new at doctoring I can hear her lab coat crinkle, Ray thought to himself.  
“My name is Doctor Gunther, I'm Miss Thatcher's attending physician.”  
“Inspector,” Ben corrected her, out of habit, Ray supposed, but there was no mistaking the tone of his voice: Ray had only heard it once before, and the last time hadn't ended well at all.  
“My apologies, Constable. Oftentimes with so many patients, it's easier to say Miss or Mister.”  
Fraser nodded, not taking his eyes off the doctor, as though daring her to continue.  
For all she was young, Dr. Gunther gave him no ground. “There's been severe trauma to the …” Ray let the big, medical terms flow over his head. He knew what had happened to the Inspector. It made him sick to his stomach.  
“We've had to induce a medical coma to allow her brain injuries to heal,” Dr. Gunther explained with cool professionalism.  
“How long, Doc?” Ray asked, cutting through the long winded explanation.  
“Two weeks, possibly more. We'll keep Ms. Thatcher under close observation.” The doctor offered a tight smile. Ray wondered if she were lying or nervous.  
“Thank you kindly, Doctor Gunter.” Fraser joined the conversation finally.  
“My pleasure.” Dr. Gunther gave the Mountie a mega watt smile. Ray rolled his eyes in silent disgust, watching as she walked away with a sashay.  
“Happens every time,” Ray muttered, shaking his head.  
“What does, Ray?” Fraser asked, innocent-faced, as usual.  
“Nothin', Fraser. Anyway, you ready to go?” Hospitals were not the detective's favorite place.  
“No, Ray, I'd like to stay a while.” The Mountie looked back toward the unconscious inspector.  
“Alright, suit yourself.” Ray shrugged. The Mountie knew his way home.  
***  
Ben sat down in the visitor's chair at the Inspector's bedside. Her bruises hadn't begun to fade yet. They were so dark, mottling her porcelain skin, Ben wondered if they'd ever fade. He knew his memories never would. Her unnaturally pale face and limp form haunted Ben's dreams. His imagination took him to places, recreated images of the Inspector's assault in all its cruelty. He could barely push aside the images during his waking hours. Instead, he wanted to see her in one of her skirt suits, ready and capable of taking on the world. He wanted to hear her laugh at one of the Japanese Ambassador's lousy jokes. Oh, how Ben wanted to smell her instead of the acrid hospital scent pervading everything surrounding her now. Even a vicious reprimand would be welcome. At least then she'd be okay.  
“Sir,” an older woman's voice tore Ben's mind from his grisly thoughts.  
“Hmm, yes?” he popped up. He noticed the sadness, his sadness, reflected in her eyes.  
“I'm sorry, but visiting hours are over, you'll have to go.” she gave him a kind smile as she ushered him out.  
“I'll take good care of her,” the nurse promised, her brown eyes almost hidden behind plump, granny cheeks.  
“Thank you,” Ben nodded as she laid a reassuring hand briefly on his arm.

***  
Day after day, Inspector Thatcher lay in a coma, her bruises fading and her wounds healing. Doctors kept a close eye on the Inspector while Ray kept an eagle eye on Fraser. The Mountie ate, slept and worked, little else. Between the consulate and the hospital, he'd forsaken cases with Ray. Not that the detective would admit it, but he missed Fraser sniffing and licking his way through mysteries.  
Two months after Thatcher's attack, Ray decided to test the waters. On the way to the hospital, after Fraser's shift, Ray started. “Hey, I got a case earlier, locked door, Agatha Christie sort of thing. You interested?” Ray tried to keep his tone casual.  
“No, thank you, Ray. I have duties at the consulate to attend with the Inspector hospitalized.”  
It sounded like Fraser, but Ray had never heard him turn down a case before.  
“Come on, everything's under control, take a few hours off,” Ray urged.  
“No, Ray, I should really attend to consular matters, we're short staffed.” Fraser held fast to his excuse.  
“It's been months an' you haven't let up at the consulate or the hospital. Don't you want to find who put Thatcher in there? Don't you want to put the SOB away?” Ray slowed down before entering the parking garage.  
“Ray, I have work to do, my duty to the Force.” Fraser's voice took on an edge Ray had never heard. The intensity of it startled the detective.  
“Duty? What about Thatcher, your duty to her?” Ray pulled into a handicapped spot on the bottom level. “I don't understand you. Any other time you'd be gung ho to get the bad guys. What's got you running scared, Fraser?” Ray stepped out of the vehicle to follow him inside.  
“I don't expect you to understand, Ray.” Fraser turned on him, merely inches from his best friend's face. Ray saw the fear and anger in Ben's eyes.  
“Alright, have it your way. I won't say another word.” Ray put his hands up and stepped back. He turned and walked to the Riv; too angry to stick around.  
***  
Ben felt bile rising in his throat as he stepped onto the elevator. He'd only argued, seriously argued, with Ray once. Ray had needed to see things clearly. Ray's feelings for Irene Zuko had blinded him to the truth.  
Am I seeing things objectively, Ben wondered silently. He stepped onto the ICU ward and knew the answer – no, of course not. How could he see past his guilt when Inspector Thatcher lay somewhere between life and death? Ben caught the scent of metallic, coppery blood over the pervasive disinfectant smell of the hospital. Somewhere beneath all that he smelled Margaret. He breathed deeply, remembering snow, crisp air and unquenchable passion.  
“Excuse me,” a nurse said, pulling Ben from his reverie.  
“Pardon me,” He stepped off the elevator, toward Inspector Thatcher's room.  
“Hello, Constable.” The older nurse who usually worked the evening shift greeted him. She held a clipboard; Meg's chart.  
“Hello, Nurse Rachel.” Ben gave her a weak smile. “How is she?” He held his Stetson between his hands, looking down at Inspector Thatcher.  
“She's doing very well, the doctors are talking about bringing her out of the coma tomorrow or the next day.” Rachel smiled brightly, laugh lines around her eyes crinkling. She wore her gray-sprinkled hair in a long, thick braid down to the middle of her back.  
“That's wonderful news.” Ben's spirit lifted immediately.  
“Even in a coma, she's fighting.” Nurse Rachel chuckled softly.  
“She is indeed,” Ben agreed, remembering all the times she'd taken the bull by the horns; Cloutier, Bolt, etc.  
“Don't worry, Constable, she'll be back to giving orders before you know it.” Nurse Rachel and her upbeat assurances kept Fraser hopeful. He sensed that she genuinely believed the Inspector would recover.  
Ben nodded to Nurse Rachel a moment before taking his usual seat at Thatcher's side. He'd be there until exhaustion drove him back to his apartment and Dief.  
“It's been a fine day, Inspector, clear, blue skies and thirty degrees. Spring is right around the corner.” Ben talked to her about Turnbull's antics, Inspector Moffat's buffoonery and his own duties at the consulate.  
Occasionally, Dief joined them, often snoozing in the corner or begging snacks in the children's ward. No one seemed to mind the half-wolf's presence.  
“In the Territories the Inuit would be down to their jeans and Henleys. Chicagoans are a hearty bunch but they do seem to enjoy complaining.” Ben continued.  
***  
Down the hall, the nurses talked amongst themselves.  
“I wish my husband looked at me the way he does her.” another nurse, the one with a winsome voice, he thought he'd heard her say her name was Susan, said.  
“Yeah, me too. He's been at her side every day since she was admitted.” A different voice this time, he didn't remember her name.  
“They aren't even married,” a third chipped in, hand on her ample hip.  
“No? What are they then?” the first nurse asked.  
“You all are awful. It's none of our business,” Nurse Rachel chided them as she cruised by, a hot water bottle in hand.  
“Yeah, yeah, we've noticed how you hang around the Mountie.” the second nurse waved her off.  
Nurse Rachel shot them a nasty glare but held her tongue.  
***


	3. Chapter Three

***  
“Constable Fraser, there you are.” Dr. Gunther jogged to catch up to the Mountie, hands in her lab coat pockets.  
“Dr. Gunther, hello. Is Margaret, ah, Inspector Thatcher alright?” Ben chastised himself for the gaffe. When did I slip into calling her that, he wondered.  
“She's alright, still stable, but I would like to speak to you about a delicate topic.” She led Ben to a quiet corner of the waiting room. He noticed the doctor's indecision as she searched his face.  
“How well do you know Ms. Thatcher?” Dr. Gunther finally asked, a deep crease between her eyebrows.  
Ben blinked, unsure how to answer. Half the time he knew her reaction often before Thatcher did. When he looked into her eyes he saw only a mystery.  
“I work closely with the Inspector. Why?” Ben watched Dr. Gunther, who bit her lip once in thought.  
“I've tried to contact Ms. Thatcher's next-of-kin but no one's returned my calls,” she answered. “Would you happen to know how to contact them?”  
“The Inspector is very private about her personal life, Doctor,” Ben answered. “She mentioned her father once in passing, but offered no details other than she respected him very much.” He was not sure whether the doctor would be allowed to speak to him, seeing as she was his superior officer, and clearly not listed as her next-of-kin. “Perhaps I could call our superiors in Ottawa to see if they might be able to contact him? It could simply be that he is not at home and out of contact.”  
“That would be the best course of action, Constable,” Doctor Gunther nodded. “Once we are able to speak with him, I’ll come find you.”  
“In there a phone I could use? I fear the pay phone will not allow me to call Ottawa from Chicago.” He had no intention of leaving the hospital. Turnbull would be alright on his own for a few more hours. Once he knew more, he’d call the Consulate to check in.  
“This pay phone will,” the doctor pointed out the one around the waiting room and gave him a small smile. “It’s around a dollar for long distance calls. You could also phone the operator to double check the price for an international call.”  
“Thank you kindly,” he nodded and picked up the receiver. After calling the operator, as the doctor had suggested, he dug in his pocket for coins, and deposited the required amount. Phoning Ottawa, he explained the situation to the Inspector’s superiors, who then gave them their assurance that they would promptly get in touch with her father, and call him back.  
It was over an hour and a half later that Doctor Gunther came back to find him.  
“Constable Fraser?”  
He jerked awake. Oh dear, he must have fallen asleep in the chair.  
“Yes, Doctor Gunther? Were you able to get in contact with the Inspector’s father?”  
“We have, and he gave us permission to tell you what we told him, as he is on his way here but will be a few hours yet. If Ms. Thatcher wakes up before he arrives, he thought it best if someone who was already here also knew what happened, in case she asks.”  
Ben swallowed and nodded, his throat dry. “Go on, Doctor?”  
She nodded sympathetically. “After her attack, several swabs were taken for evidence. One of the tests done indicated Ms. Thatcher had been raped.”  
Ben felt sick to his stomach. Meg, raped. The knot already laying in the pit of his stomach grew heavier. Dr. Gunther's words rushed over him until she dropped another bombshell.  
“Blood work came back this morning positive for first trimester pregnancy hormones.”  
“Pregnancy?” Ben repeated, unsure he'd heard correctly.  
“Yes, Ms. Thatcher is pregnant.” Dr. Gunther stared at Ben until he returned her gaze.  
All he could manage was a small nod.  
“Constable Fraser, when she wakes up I'll have to tell her the extent of her condition. I thought it best to tell you beforehand so you could offer support. The hospital has a therapist on-hand as soon as Ms. Thatcher wakes.”  
Ben held up a hand to interrupt. “That won't be necessary just yet. I'll inform Inspector Thatcher of her condition as soon as she's ready. Thank you kindly, Dr. Gunther. I appreciate your candor.” Dazed, Ben left the young doctor standing in the waiting room.  
***  
Two days later doctors successfully brought Thatcher out of her medically induced coma. Nurse Rachel met Fraser at the elevator, an eager smile on her face.  
“She's awake, and she's asked for you, Constable Fraser.” Rachel motioned for him to follow her to Thatcher's room.  
Ben felt his heart hammering in his ears, stomach tight with nervous nausea. He walked into the hospital room quietly, unsure of what to expect.  
“Will she be the same Inspector Thatcher? Will she recognize me?”  
Inspector Thatcher lay on her back, eyes closed. Most of the machinery had been removed, Ben noted.  
She's still so pale, he thought.  
“Thank you kindly, Nurse Rachel. I'll sit for a while if it's alright?”  
Nurse Rachel nodded and left him to sit at Thatcher's bedside.  
“Good evening, Inspector.” Ben spoke quietly, elbows on knees as he leaned forward.  
Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyelashes fluttering as she opened them.  
“Hello,” she whispered hoarsely, wincing.  
Ben could have cried, had he been anyone else.  
“Hello,” he repeated, swallowing his emotions.  
“What happened, Constable?” Thatcher more mouthed than spoke. Removing the feeding tube had left her throat bloody raw.  
“They haven't told you?” Ben began to dig at his eyebrow. Thatcher gave him a purse-lipped glare, then slowly shook her head no.  
“You were attacked, severely beaten and left in the entrance of my apartment building in retaliation to a Mafia related case Detective Vecchio and I were working on.” Ben pulled himself upright, back rigid, shoulders squared.  
Thatcher's eyes widened. Ben saw her heart rate rise on the monitor beside her bed.  
“I don't remember, I …”  
Ben watched as tears welled up in her brown eyes and her face crumple. He'd never seen her lose her composure this way.  
“Inspector,” Ben managed past the lump in his throat. He moved forward, taking her hand in both his. Her slight fingers gripped his tightly as a shuddering sob rose. Margaret wiped her eyes with her free hand, trying to understand what had happened and why.  
“I'm sorry,” Margaret whispered.  
“It's I who should apologize, Ma'am.” Ben hung his head, unable to meet her eyes. Margaret shook her head, still clutching his hand.  
“My memory, everything is hazy.” She could only shake her head.  
“I should leave you to rest, it's late.” Ben swallowed hard, trying not to let his voice crack.  
“No, please, I'm okay, really.” She gripped his hand tighter, her big, dark eyes pleading for him to stay.  
How could Ben leave? If she wanted him, needed him, there he'd stay forever.  
“Okay,” Ben conceded. Gently, he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. Her scraped and bruised knuckles had long faded but Ben remembered every detail, every wound.  
They talked for a while; Ben answering Meg's questions. He couldn't bring himself to tell her the whole truth of the attack. He refused to speak of that forbidden place Meg's attackers had so cruelly invaded. It was too soon. He’d tell her in a few days.  
Meg fell asleep once more, her hand still clutching Ben's. He hated to leave but knew he needed his own rest. Though he left bodily, his heart remained at Meg's side. She wouldn't leave his thoughts.  
“Rest easy,” Ben whispered, pulling loose of her hand.  
“Sweet dreams.”  
****  
Though Meg had woken Ben remained close at hand. Ray rarely saw the Mountie. They never discussed Ray's investigation and Fraser's lack thereof.  
Meg began her physical therapy through the day, met with a counselor regularly and looked forward to being released. Sometimes she felt frustrated and resentful. Seeing Fraser in all his good health and athleticism didn't help.  
“Inspector Thatcher,” Ben tapped on the open door, stepping carefully into her dimly lit room.  
“Go away,” she answered roughly.  
“Inspector, are you alright?” Ben stepped farther inside, wary of her reaction.  
“I said, go away. I don't want to see you,” she forced out again.  
Ben saw her lying on her side, facing away from the door.  
I want to see you, Fraser thought meekly.  
“I brought the journal you requested,” Ben persisted.  
“What part of 'Go away', do you not comprehend, Constable?” Meg rose from the bed, turning to face him. Ben noted the strain in her features.  
“I'll leave the journal here for you. Sleep well, Inspector.” Ben laid the ox blood, faux leather journal on the bedside table before turning to leave.  
“Fraser,” Thatcher's voice turned him around again.  
“Yes?” he waited patiently for her to turn over in bed. She'd often lost her temper or come across as surly since waking. Ben knew the physical demands of therapy to be more rigorous than RCMP training at Depot.  
“I found out today. You deceived me.” Her words sounded harsh to Ben's ears; sand paper to his conscience.  
“Deceived?” Ben questioned.  
“My menstrual cycle has been off since I woke from the coma. I asked Dr. Gunther about it this morning. She said, “Oh, I thought Constable Fraser told you, you'd been raped during the attack. You could be pregnant.” You knew and you didn't tell me. You've known all along and never said a word.” Tears shimmered in her dark eyes as she faced him. Ben's throat felt thick – from guilt, from shame and betrayal. Withholding it had hurt Meg more than it spared her.  
“Leave, and don't come back.” Meg's tears spilled down her cheeks but still she stared him down.  
“Yes, Ma'am,” Ben said meekly before he turned to leave, journal in hand. Bile rose in his throat.  
Oh, God, I've lost her, Ben thought as he walked numbly back toward the elevator.  
“Excuse me,”  
Ben felt a solid form hit his side and heard a soft voice apologize.  
“Constable Fraser, are you alright?” Nurse Rachel asked. She held onto her purse, freshly arrived for the night shift.  
Ben hesitated, conflicted about how best to answer.  
“Oh, that bad, eh?” Nurse Rachel shook her head. “You didn't tell her, did you?” the nurse whispered, to which Ben nodded.  
“I have a few minutes, would you like to talk about it?” she offered. Ben nodded.  
“They're working on the waiting room, no one's there at this hour.” Rachel led them around the corner to a small room. Plastic hung over the entrance, flanked by unopened buckets of paint. Ben followed her to a dimly lit corner, a few chairs pulled into a circle.  
“What happened?” Rachel settled into a seat, a deep frown pulling at her brow.  
“Doctor Gunther told her she may be pregnant. She sent me away.” Ben ran his hands down his face, staring at the floor tile in the distance.  
“Oh dear,” Rachel muttered.  
“Oh dear indeed,” Ben repeated, his voice rough.  
“Is she the forgiving kind?” the nurse asked after a beat.  
Ben's eyebrows rose, “No, very rarely.” He heard Rachel's sigh and sensed her head shake.  
“So many times …” He couldn't finish.  
“You care for her, deeply. It must be torture, seeing her struggle,” Rachel sympathized. She seemed to understand Ben's conflict and cared.  
“Yes, more than I can articulate. More than I should.” The truth forced it's way past the tightness in his throat.  
“Never regret how much you love someone.” Rachel laid a gentle hand on his forearm. Ben couldn't help but grin. His grandmother had said something similar after his first crush hadn't felt the same.  
“She's my commanding officer.”  
Rachel quirked her eye in admonishment.  
“It presents a wealth of obstacles,” Ben tried to explain.  
“That's your brain talking. Listen to your heart, Constable Fraser. If you care for her as you say you do, fight for her. She needs a friend now more than ever.” Nurse Rachel encouraged with a sincere smile. “Ask her forgiveness, tell her how you feel. She may surprise you,” she continued.  
“Yes, perhaps.” Ben swallowed hard. Asking forgiveness, taking a chance, opening himself up to her, scared him to the core.  
“Well, I better go, I'm due at work.” Rachel stood up, adjusting her purse strap.  
“Thank you kindly, Nurse Rachel.” Ben stood as well, hat in hand.  
“It'll be alright, Constable, give it time,” she assured him before leaving.  
Dief joined Ben in the hospital foyer, a satisfied grin on his face. Despite the wolf's sugary snack induced energy, Ben couldn't muster a scold. He barely noticed Dief's presence. Heartbroken, Ben walked home, the oxblood journal still clutched in his left hand.  
In the apartment, Ben didn't bother undressing, he simply lay on his cot. He felt so cold and so numb. Neither of those feelings bothered him, having kept their company before.  
Must I always hurt the ones I love, he wondered, rubbing his eyes. A viscous voice in the back of his mind answered 'yes', sounding very much like Victoria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being slow to post, I and my beta have been IRL busy. Thank you all kindly for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Though Ben lay in bed sleep wouldn't come. He lay awake berating himself, reliving Margaret's words.

“She must hate me. I can't blame her.”

Ben tossed and turned until he couldn't and then left the apartment. He didn't bother trying to wake Dief, who slept soundly on his bed.

He found himself in a park across town, sitting on a bench. A chilly wind threatened to dislodge his Stetson. Right then, Ben wouldn't have cared if it flew away to the Territories. Nurse Rachel's words replayed in his mind.

_Tell her how you feel._

_She may surprise you_

_Never regret how much you love someone._

Ben couldn't imagine himself pouring out his heart to anyone; much less Margaret. He'd never admitted his feelings easily to anyone. If he didn't tell her he'd really lose her, he felt certain of that. But how to tell her without Margaret calling hospital security to haul him off?

The oxblood journal and Nurse Rachel.

Ben walked to his apartment by the shortest route possible. Once through the door he found the journal lying on his father's battered footlocker. He fetched his best fountain pen, perfect penmanship a must, and set to work at the kitchen table.

Ben didn't let the blank, white pages intimidate him. No writer's block. Words flowed, whether they made sense of not. Does the heart ever follow reason? Feelings covered the pages; from the moment they met to his state of mind at three AM after writing for hours. He admitted his feelings – love, anger, resentment, desperation and despondency over her attack. The guilt. The guilt left Ben reeling; crying.

Finally, he asked for Margaret's forgiveness. He knew, reasonably, she may not forgive him. Try, he had to try.

Ben wrapped the journal in plain, brown paper tied with string. Carefully, he wrote Margaret's name on the front.

_Inspector Margaret Thatcher_

Weary to the bone, Ben lay down to sleep for a while before his shift at the consulate.

****

Ben waited at the elevator, looking for Nurse Rachel before her shift. Dief charmed treats from the other nurses. For once, Ben didn't scold, too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“Oh, hello, Constable Fraser,” Rachel greeted him as she stepped off the elevator. Her braid swung back from her shoulder as she pulled on her purse strap.

“Good morning Nurse Rachel,” he answered, the words sticking in his throat, weary from lack of sleep. “May I speak to you – privately?” Ben nodded toward the unfinished waiting room around the corner.

“Okay,” Rachel shrugged, falling into step behind the Mountie.

Once through the plastic drape Ben turned on Rachel, startling the forty-something nurse.

“Would you give this to Meg, ah, Inspector Thatcher?” Ben caught himself. He saw a smile flit over Rachel's granny cheeks before she answered.  
“Yes, I will. But wouldn't it be better if you gave it to her in person?”

Ben shook his head. “The Inspector doesn’t want me to see her. In fact, she forbid me to return. I don't want to upset her, especially since …” he caught himself again.“Will you give it to her, please?” Ben stopped short of begging.

“Yes, Constable, I'll make sure she gets it,” Rachel assured him.

“Thank you kindly. I'm in your debt.” Ben nodded.

***

**_The Previous Night …_ **

Margaret sank back onto the hospital bed, arms wrapped around her stomach. What to do now? The one person who could comfort her had caused her the greatest pain. Fraser's face when she'd sent him away lingered in her mind.

 _He doesn't know the half of it. How could he, very few know about my marriage or the miscarriages. That's the way I want it, too,_ Meg thought resentfully. Carrying another child – losing another child – terrified her.

Margaret pretended to sleep so the nurses would leave her alone for the night. Inside, her mind swirled, scenes from her marriage scrolling through. The first pregnancy Meg and Jon threw a party and furnished a nursery. They'd maintained hope for the second. After the third  Margaret sold the nursery furniture, gave away the presents and had the room painted off-white again.

 _“Now I have to face all that again.”_ Margaret let her tears escape, heartsick.

***

Rachel carried the wrapped package under her arm as she clocked-in for the night shift. Nursing rumor mill had it that Thatcher'd had a bad night and day. That meant a rough shift for her nurse and Certified Nursing Assistant. Rachel volunteered and recruited Becky, a CNA working two jobs while going to nursing classes. Rachel admired her work ethic.

Ms. Thatcher didn't acknowledge either woman when they entered. Instead, she stared dully at the muted TV playing the evening news. Becky followed Rachel's lead, working quietly and efficiently.

“Go on ahead, Becky, I'll be there in a minute,” Rachel spoke quietly as they finished. The young woman nodded and left.

“Ms. Thatcher,” Rachel spoke with authority as she closed the door. The other woman shifted her dark brown eyes toward Rachel, her expression impassive.

“Someone asked me to give you this.” Rachel pulled the package from her scrub pocket. Thatcher's eyes lit up a moment before narrowing hatefully.

“No, thank you. I don't want it.” Thatcher's tone bordered on glacial.

“I wouldn't toss it aside so quickly if I were you. Constable Fraser put a lot of time and consideration into this.”

“It's too little, too late. Please take it away.” Thatcher answered icily.

Rachel suppressed an irritated growl.

“Well, since you insist on being so stubborn, Miss Thatcher,” Rachel unhooked her name tag and badge from her scrubs and set them on the bedside table. “As you can see, I am now speaking as a private citizen, and not as your nurse.”

Meg wasn’t actually sure if that could be done, especially if Rachel was still on duty, but she said nothing in response.

“Constable Fraser is one of the most compassionate men I have ever met. He sat by your bedside for months while you were in a coma, sat right there from five thirty until ten every night. All day on Saturdays and Sundays. Then you woke up and he helped you through therapy, even when you treated him awful. He cares for you. He adores you. How can you be so, so, _ugh_ , so cruel?” Rachel stopped before she said anything she'd regret. She reattached her name tag and badge, laid the package on the night stand before marching out. She’d flown off the handle but she hated to see a good man, and there were so few, summarily dismissed like that.

~~~~~  

Meg blinked in confusion as the door closed behind the indignant nurse. _“Is that really how people see our relationship? He adores me?”_ Her grief and resentment ebbed.

She unwrapped the package to find the ox blood colored journal Fraser had carried the night before.

“Of course it would be red,” Meg murmured before opening the journal to the first page.

Fraser's neat handwriting flowed across the lined page, every jot just so. In carefully chosen words he described the day they met from his point of view. He remembered details Meg had long forgotten, what she'd worn, the time of day, etc,. He wrote of the disappointment in himself he felt for her every admonishment. Meg knew she'd taken him for granted but reading his inner thoughts made her feel guilty.

Fraser described “the train incident” with such heat yet tenderness Meg blushed. Bolt's trial and their semaphore messages amused him, giving him the courage to compliment her: Red suits you. He admired her for giving Agent Ford a bloody nose, resulting in two black eyes. Fraser wrote of Henri Cloutier and a dozen other times she'd stood her ground; of how much he respected her.

 _He does adore me,_ Meg thought, a lump in her throat.

Meg read Fraser's words twice, marveling at his insight and at how much he kept behind the “Mountie Mask”.

 _“If he had a clue about the miscarriages he would have said something about the rape.”_ Meg laid a hand over her stomach. His pain over hurting her touched Meg deeply. It anguished him to know someone had violated her so cruelly.

I have to make this right – somehow, she decided, hugging the journal to her chest.

***  

It took Meg a few days to sort out how to do just that. Well, more precisely, how she planned to _try_ to mend fences with Fraser. She decided it should be face-to-face. Her gut clenched at the thought of revealing so much of herself to anyone.

 _He won't adore me when he really gets to know me,_ she thought. _“I have to apologize. Fraser deserves that_ _at the very least_ _.”_

With nervous fingers, Meg dialed the consulate. For once she felt glad to speak to Constable Turnbull instead of Fraser. “Constable Turnbull, please have Constable Fraser come to the hospital, it's urgent.” Meg repeated 'urgent' before the junior officer could sputter more than a few questions. Afterward, nerves triggered nausea.

Half an hour later Fraser jogged into Meg's room, eyes wide and face pale.

“Inspector Thatcher, are you alright? Turnbull said it was urgent.” Fraser stared at her, eyes trailing from head-to-toe quickly.

Meg stood up, needing to gather her courage. “Thank you for coming, Fraser. I mislead Turnbull.” Fraser blinked in confusion at her admission.  “First, I have a story to share with you, then an apology.” She motioned for him to sit down.

**********

Meg took a deep breath before beginning with meeting Jon, a dashing Mountie a few years older than herself. She managed to maintain control, only wiping away tears once or twice. Fraser's expression morphed from confusion to sympathy and guilt.

“You see, that's why I reacted so strongly. Can you,” Meg paused to steady her quivering voice. “Can you forgive me?” She stared at him apprehensively. He hadn't spoken yet, making her wonder.

“What you wrote, how you see me, how you see everything … I never suspected.” Meg nodded nervously.

Swiftly, Fraser stood up, his crystal blue eyes shining.

“You've done nothing to be forgiven, Margaret.” With utmost tenderness he took her left hand in his, stroking the back with his thumb. Meg looked at his larger hand around herself, electrified by his touch.

“I hurt you … what you wrote … How can you just shrug it off like that?” Meg shook her head.

“Because I care for you, very deeply, Margaret. Had I obeyed you orders to stop trying to police Chicago you wouldn't have been attacked – you wouldn't have been … violated.”

Meg lowered her gaze, hedging before her next admission. “Ordering you to curtail policing Chicago had more to do with me wanting to keep you safe than any RCMP directive.” She fiddled with her gown ties before looking into his eyes.

“I suspected as much.”

Meg tried to gauge his reaction but saw only tenderness.

Meg and Benton spoke a few more minutes before she sent him back to the consulate. They planned to have dinner after Fraser's shift to talk more. Meg found she was looking forward to leaving the rehabilitation wing for a while, especially with Fraser.

***


	5. Chapter 5

****

Ben reflected on the time he'd just spent with Margaret as he walked back to the consulate. His heart had seized in his chest when Turnbull said she'd called for him – urgently. Her admissions and apologies had soothed the hurt of being sent away. Revealing his feelings aloud felt like a burden lifted. He sensed she cared for him in return though she kept it to herself.

 _We have time,_ Ben thought happily.

Turnbull bombarded Fraser with questions about Inspector Thatcher as soon as the door closed. Deflecting the younger constable took skill, and Ben deftly redirected him to consular matters. Turnbull and Inspector Moffat got along like two peas in a pod, providing plenty of things to distract Turnbull.

Even so, Fraser heard the younger Mountie mutter; “No one tells me anything.” Ben chuckled to himself. He couldn't blame the man.

***

Dinner …

Meg struggled into a pair of dark slacks and a maroon knit top trimmed in black satin. Putting on her black flats took more effort than ever. Under her breath she cursed the day of her attackers' births. A broken leg, collar bone, fractured ribs and various other injuries had left her re-learning how to do just about everything.

“May I help?” Ben's voice brought Meg out of her muttered string of curses.

“I hate this,” she growled. “I went from running on top of moving trains to flagging you down with semaphore in a bay window to barely being able to brush my teeth! I can hardly get dressed on my own without help.”

Ben heard the irritation and frustration in her voice.

“It gets easier, I promise,” he answered, as it was the only thing that came to mind. He regretted it almost immediately.

Meg couldn't help the scowl she turned on Ben.

“Nice to know,” she retorted sarcastically, dark eyes narrowed.

When Ben handed her the cane she used, at Doctor Gunther's insistence, and offered his arm, Meg forgave him the smile picking up the corner of his mouth.

“Come on, you're buying dinner.” She threaded her arm through his and set off.

“Gladly,” he replied.

Since it was one of Meg's first outings they didn't stray far from the hospital. Fraser directed the cab driver to a small eatery he'd scoped out earlier – Julian's. The tiny restaurant boasted a large, picture window the red brick building set amid a line of business catering to the hospital crowd. Gold letters outlined in bold, black typeface announced the name across the plate glass window.

“I hope you like it here, it's highly recommended by the nursing staff,” Ben said as he held the door for Meg. He saw her lips purse and her right eyebrow lift. _Jealousy?_

A waiter in a collared white shirt and black slacks ushered the couple to a quiet table along the window. Water glasses appeared seconds later. Meg fiddled with her cloth napkin, chewing on her bottom lip. A waitress introduced herself before taking their drink orders. Ben waited until the waitress stepped away to take Meg's hand.

“Are you alright, Margaret? We can leave anytime you wish,” he assured her quietly. He understood her trepidation, on of the attackers had crushed her hand, limiting her dexterity. Wielding a fork had become a chore.

“I'm fine, Fraser, I can do this. I'm not a toddler.” Her dark eyes glittered with determination.

Ben nodded then turned back to his menu. He felt he'd made things awkward between them again. It pained him to think he'd made it difficult for her in any way. He remembered those dark days recovering from Ray's bullet all too well.

“Constable Fraser,” Meg's harsh voice brought him back to the present. Their drinks had arrived, mineral water for Ben and a lemonade for Meg. He noticed how she glared at the concoction. Being pregnant meant no alcohol and she'd decided to limit her caffeine. No alcohol  had been in every pamphlet she’d read on pregnancy. And most recommended curbing caffeine. Decaf just didn’t cut it, sadly.

Meg ordered a chicken dish and salad while Ben chose roast beef. Once the server left they sat in silence as other patrons chatted around them.

“We came specifically to talk yet we aren’t saying anything,” Meg began, glancing at Ben. He felt a grin pulling at his mouth.

“I don’t know where to start.” He slipped his fingers around Meg's gently.

“At the beginning, where stories usually start?” she suggested, a small half smile tugging at her mouth. “Here’s what I know so far: a certain nurse told me you'd spent every spare minute at my bedside, how do you have that kind of time, what with consular duties and working with Detective Vecchio?”

Meg broached the one topic Ben had hoped to avoid – Ray.

“I haven't been to the Twenty-seventh Precinct since …” he faltered. He hated to think of the day he'd found Margaret's limp and broken body.

“Why?” Meg asked sharply, shocked.

“My interference led to your attack. I've decided to discontinue my liaison with the Chicago Police Department.” Ben stiffened.

“Discontinue, why? Detective Vecchio is your best friend.”

Ben saw Margaret struggling to contain her temper. He too struggled, but with how to devolve the situation.

“He may be, but I have other duties, more pressing responsibilities now,” he answered calmly. _Oh, how he hoped their meals arrived soon._ She didn’t need to hear that he and Ray were hardly on speaking terms at the moment.

“You don't feel a duty to capture the scum who did this to me – to us?” Margaret's temper won out. She gripped her salad fork until her knuckles whitened.

“Ray is a perfectly capable detective. I'm certain he'll find whoever did this and bring them to justice,” Ben defended himself and Vecchio weakly.

“Ahem,” a soft, female voice interrupted. The waitress stood at a discreet distance, holding their meals.

“Excuse me,” she gave a nervous smile. “Let me know if you need anything. Enjoy.” She set the plates down on the table and made a hasty retreat.

“Thank you kindly,” Ben managed before she vanished completely.

“Let's not argue about this. We've had enough unpleasantness,” Margaret's said calmly, looking Ben in the eye. It took a while for either of them to speak again. When they did it came in awkward spurts.

I've done it again. I've ruined things between us; made the wrong choice, Ben lamented silently after paying the check.

Nurse Rachel smiled as she passed Ben and Meg in the hall. Ben tipped his hat respectfully but said nothing, preoccupied.

“Thank you for taking me to dinner, Fraser. I'm sorry we didn't have a happier time.” Meg sat down on the hospital bed, a weary sigh leaving her.

“Me too,” Ben murmured, stooping to help Meg take off her shoes. Before he could straighten up from slipping them beneath the bed she laid her hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Fraser, really.” Her dark eyes were soft in the florescent light, “but I do want them caught and punished.” All Ben could do was nod. He knew what had to be done.

***

At lunch the next day Ben marched over to the Twenty-seventh Precinct, mentally prepared to eat humble pie and apologize profusely for his absence. He hadn't seen or spoken to anyone since that day at the hospital. People seemed surprised to see him.

“Constable Fraser, long time no see,” Elaine Besbriss greeted him, a file in hand and a welcoming smile gracing her face.

“Yes, I've been preoccupied since the Inspector's assault.” He had rehearsed the answer, hoping it would satisfy everyone. Ben knew it wouldn't placate Ray; whom he met next.

“Fraser? What the hell?” The detective stopped in his tracks, just managing to catch the open file that had been in his hand from falling to the floor.

“Ray, can we talk?” A bitter taste began to rise in the back of Ben's throat.

“Well, uh, I got a lot to do.” Ray avoided eye contact as he strolled toward his desk.

“Ray, please?” Ben couldn't blame him; what kind of best friends quarreled and didn't speak for months? He saw the hesitancy in Ray's hazel eyes a moment before he motioned for them to sit down.

“Better be good, Fraser, Welsh's bustin' my chops,” Ray warned, opening his desk drawer.

Ben took a deep breath. “I realized that I do have a responsibility to the Inspector to find the culprits, to see them punished. I'd like to help, if possible.” He watched Ray carefully as he toyed with his Stetson. Dief whined piteously at Ray's side.

“I don't know, Fraser, it's kinda nice working solo again. I just got back in the swing of it.”

Ben hung his head, dejected. “I understand, Ray.” He turned to leave, scanning the bullpen for Dief.

“Ah, geez, Fraser,” Ben heard Ray curse as he shuffled after him. “Don’t be running out on me just yet, maybe I could use your help; for Thatcher's sake.” Ray frowned at him, faking irritation.

“For Inspector Thatcher's sake,” Ben agreed, a smile creeping across his face.

“Don't push it, though, I was just getting good at solo again,” the detective warned.

“Yes, Ray,” Ben knew all would be forgiven. It felt good to be Ray's partner again. A genuine smile finally broke through.

***


	6. Chapter 6

*****  
Ray and Fraser went back to square one on the Mob case; pulling all the files and evidence they'd collected. On his own, Ray had hit a wall of silence. No one had seen Manetti's men anywhere near Fraser's apartment or the consulate. Everyone had heard of “Money Maker Manetti” though. His counterfeit operation supplied the Mob with millions each year.  
“It's hard to nail Manetti for anything with the Secret Service runnin' rough shod,” Ray complained, pacing along his desk.  
“Hmm,” Ben frowned and made a noise in his throat, as though clearing it. “That does pose a problem.”  
“Anything small we charge him with they're gonna pressure the DA's office to let go,” the detective continued, one hand on his hip, one gesturing as he spoke.  
“Then we'll have to prove that Manetti is both a counterfeiter and responsible for Inspector Thatcher's attack.”  
Ray halted in place, surprised. “Just like that, don't aim big or nothing, Fraser.”  
“Even the strongest armor can have chinks, Ray; weaknesses.” Ben stood up, mind racing. Ferret out the weak spot, the weak mobster, bring Manetti down.  
“You're a genius, Fraser.” Ray slapped the Mountie on the back, a grin on his face.  
Ray and Fraser redoubled their efforts with assistance from Elaine.  
“C'mon, Fraser, let's call it quits. It's two AM.” Ray finally pushed away from his desk. They'd been working the files for fourteen hours straight.  
“Rome wasn't built in a day.” Elaine added, wiping grit from her tired eyes.  
“You're right I suppose.” Fraser chewed on his lower lip as he stared into space. He hated to give up, even for a night's sleep. Dief had long since fallen asleep in an out of the way corner.  
“I'll drive you home, Fraser,” Ray offered.  
“Thank you kindly, Ray.” The Mountie found Dief and met the detective outside a few minutes later.  
The Riv cruised along smoothly, one of many out in the middle of the night. Fraser mulled over their strategy until Ray broke the silence.  
“How is Thatcher doin' anyway?”  
“The Inspector is in the rehabilitation wing undergoing intense physical therapy. Her doctors are quite pleased with her progress,” Ben gave his standard answer. So many people asked, mostly to make conversation he thought.  
“No, I meant, how's she really doin'? I've talked to the doctors for the investigation.” Ben didn't need Ray's clarification.  
“She's eager to see her attackers punished.” He couldn't tell Ray about Meg's pregnancy or how every day she struggled to do the simplest tasks. She had come so far in such a short time. Ben admired her more than ever.  
“Yeah, I'd say so.” An understatement on Ray's part.

  
At Ben's apartment the Mountie leaned down to say good-night.  
“Thank you for the ride, Ray.”  
The detective nodded before asking; “See you tomorrow?”  
“Yes, Ray, though I believe you mean later today.” Ben couldn't help himself, he had to correct the detective.  
“Go on, Fraser, 'fore I change my mind.” Ray waved him off before leaving.  
All was forgiven.  
****  
Seven o'clock AM, promptly, Meg's room phone began ringing. Setting aside her fruit and yogurt she answered, “Hello, Fraser,” with a smile.  
“Margaret, good morning. How do you feel?”  
Hearing his voice, drinking in her name on his lips, made Meg feel better.  
“A little nauseous. As we both know, that’s just morning sickness, but I'm fine. How are you?” She stopped short of asking about the case. It wouldn't do to pressure him, Meg figured. He'd chastised himself enough over the attack. She recognized her own resentment – If he'd followed orders he wouldn't have been working a Mob case and I wouldn't be in this shape. With her therapist's help, Meg kept it in-check.  
She and Fraser talked a few minutes about their plans for the day before saying good-bye. Somehow just speaking to him about something as ordinary as who would be changing the burned out light bulb in the reception area or who would be moving offices within the building was enough to lift her spirits. All that represented normalcy, structure. Something she was missing very much cooped up in the hospital, if she did say so herself.  
“Margaret,” She heard the hesitation in his voice.  
“Yes?”  
“I look forward to seeing you.” His words rushed forth. Meg smiled, her heart swelling with affection.  
“I look forward to seeing you, too, Ben.”

He sounded relieved to hear those words returned as they said good-bye.  
***  
HONK HONK  
The Riviera's screaming horn outside the consulate pulled Ben back to reality.  
“Come, Diefenbaker,” The Mountie and deaf wolf hurried out to meet Ray and start working the case again.  
“Not standing statue today?” Ray said by way of greeting.  
“No, no sentry duty today. Inspector Moffat neglected to assign anyone.” Ben looked both ways as Ray ran a red light.  
“Points for Moffat,” the detective chuckled.  
“Standing sentry duty is a proud tradition. The RCMP embodies, no, symbolizes, all of Canada's virtues; it leaves a lasting impression, Ray.” Fraser went on to detail the rules and regulations of RCMP sentry duty. Before he knew it Ray had parked the Buick in its customary spot.  
Once inside, Elaine caught up to Ray and Fraser while palming Dief a cheese curl. “Of all Manetti's known associates, these are the ones on parole.” She handed Ray a printed list. “These have pending arrest warrants and these are unaccounted for.” The rest she handed to Fraser. Each arrest record had been printed, alphabetized and cross referenced.  
“Thank you kindly, Elaine.” Ben saw a familiar twinkle in her eyes a moment before she turned away. He'd seen it in many women's faces. Still, Ben didn't understand it.  
“Guess we could squeeze the ones on parole, one of 'em might flip on Manetti,” Ray said, drawing Fraser's attention. The detective didn't sound convinced. Lazily, he sorted his mail while Fraser sped read through the arrest records Elaine had pulled for them.  
“Until we examine each file, we can’t possibly assume any of them would want to do so.” Typical of Fraser, thinking of logical next steps. “I’m probably too optimistic in thinking that one of them will have a change of heart.”  
Ray gave him a scoffing look.  
“C'mon, Fraser, we have parolees to squeeze,” Ray spoke as he sauntered toward the door, straightening his blue and maroon striped tie. Dief caught up to the Mountie and detective a moment later.  
***  
Meg missed Benton, as she'd come to think of him now. She wondered how he fared. Had he eaten lunch? Was the new inspector overworking him? Moffat had a reputation as an air head. Getting anything done correctly meant Fraser had to do it.  
He said he'd visit this evening, Meg reminded herself as she worked with the physical therapist on the fine motor skills in her hands. Knowing Ben was coming prompted her to work harder. She had a good reason to now. She had a baby to hold and a blooming relationship with Benton.  
Fears of another miscarriage niggled in the back of Meg's mind. Part of her replayed images of Jon's face when they'd parted; his disappointment. Her physical pain and loss hadn't hurt nearly as badly as his expression. Meg didn't know if she could survive losing another child – or losing Benton. That thought chilled her to the bone.  
Am I really that attached to him, she wondered as she fumbled with a foam squeeze ball.  
“Your are if you can't see yourself living without him.” her inner voice chided.  
“Margaret,” Her mind snapped back to reality when the physical therapist said her name forcefully.  
“You're finished for today. You'll be ready for outpatient therapy sometime next week.” The middle aged man, a patient, gentle soul, gave her a warm smile. Hope filled Meg. She was going home!  
****  
Gio whistled as he swung the mop from side-to-side. A slight man, the mop handle came up to his chin. He wore his dirty blond hair slicked back from his watery brown eyes and sallow face. The puke yellow overalls he wore didn't improve his complexion.  
“Giovanni Donetta?” a harsh, male voice spoke as the front door to the suburban house opened. Silhouetted against the morning sun stood two men. The second drew Gio's attention first. For a moment he wondered what a doorman was doing at a job site. Then he realized it was a Mountie. That brought on a chuckle. He'd heard through the criminal grapevine about the Mountie, his wolf and his Chicago PD detective partner.  
“That's me.” Gio set his mop in the yellow bucket's wringer with a sigh.  
The detective muttered a Very Bad Word as he examined his shiny shoes for the blood and brain matter he'd just walked into.  
“You work crime scene clean-up, why ain't this place clean?” the detective demanded angrily.  
“I'm a man short today.” Gio shrugged, leaning on his mop handle. “What do ya want?” He got paid by the job, not the hour. Wasted time didn't pay the bills.  
“Mr. Donetta, we would like to speak to you about Mr. Manetti.” The Mountie stepped forward, avoiding the mess easily.  
Here it came; the squeeze. Gio knew it well. He detested getting involved with Manetti more every time a cop showed up on his doorstep with questions.  
“You are?” Gio asked; a formality.  
“I'm Detective Vecchio, this is Constable Fraser.”  
Gio shook hands with the Mountie but not Vecchio. He didn't much care for the detective's narrowed eyes and arrogant attitude.  
“I haven't seen Manetti in over a year, not since he threw me under the bus at my trial. Anything I know is old news, which I already told the cops.” Gio felt like squirming under the Mountie's frank appraisal.  
I got nothin' to hide, Gio reminded himself. Cleaning up after a murder-suicide wasn't an easy job but it earned honest money.  
“Yeah, uh huh,” Vecchio muttered, hands on his hips.  
“There as an attack on a woman about four months ago. She was severely beaten; broken bones, internal bleeding, a head injury. If you have any information about the attack it would be most helpful.” Fraser waited for Vecchio to fish out a business card.  
“What my friend means is; we know you still have contacts in Manetti's operation. We know you know somethin'.” The detective stepped closer, a wolfish expression on his lean face.  
“I mind my own business, Detective Vecchio. Don't know nothin'.” Gio stood up a little straighter. He felt bad for the woman but this jerk didn't buffalo him in the slightest.  
“You know, I got a lot to do, nailing scum balls like you and Manetti, but I think I could take time to show up at every clean-up job you get for a while.”  
Gio chuckled. Amateur.  
“Okay. After this I got a job on Maple, ninety year old cat lady. The neighbors didn't find her for eight days. I can stand the smell if you can.” Gio grinned. He made good money tidying up after death.  
The Mountie stepped closer, a glacial glint to his blue eyes. Gio stiffened, feeling trapped. He knew, instinctively, that under all the uniform trappings and polite talk lay a lethal man if provoked.  
“Mr. Donetta, the attack victim spent two months in a coma. She has had to re-learn how to walk, to dress, and use eating utensils, all due to our investigation into Mr. Manetti's operation. He will go to great lengths to cover his tracks, as will I to enforce justice for this attack.” The Mountie stepped back half a pace, freeing Gio. “Now, any information you provide will be very helpful.”  
Gio swallowed hard and steadied himself. “Yeah, okay,” Gio nodded dumbly.  
“Tell your brother Robbie I say hello,” Vecchio called as he and the Mountie walked out the front door.  
Gio shook his head. “My stupid brother's gonna get me killed yet.” Gio griped silently. Robbie had convinced him to drive him around passing fake money in the first place. Now the cops had Gio between a rock and a hard place. They'd make life hell or Gio could use Robbie to get information. Fake money wasn't supposed to get anyone hurt.  
****  
“What was that in there, Fraser?” Ray asked, looking over the Riv roof at him.  
“What was what, Ray?” Ben doffed his Stetson before opening the passenger door. He'd almost lost his self-control with that simpering idiot.  
“What what, you know what. I've never seen you so close to losin' your cool with a suspect. I saw Donetta's face while you were talkin' about Thatcher.”  
Ben waited on Dief to hop into the backseat before folding himself inside.  
“Fine, don't talk about it with your best friend,” Ray said sulkily as he started the motor. Ben hated guilt trips as much as anyone else.  
“Ray, I was simply trying to impress upon Mr. Donetta the severity of the situation.” Ray gave him a skeptical, sideways glance after he pulled into traffic.  
“Yeah, well, if I did it they'd charge me with police harassment.”  
He was right, Ben knew. But neither of them remembered finding Margaret broken and bleeding all those months ago.  
The detective must have sensed Ben's train of thought. When he spoke again he changed the subject.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we finally get to the meat of the case!

****  
Meg waited impatiently for Benton to arrive. She'd eaten dinner alone without too much difficulty and now sat trying to read a novel. The characters seemed dull, when she managed to pay attention. Where was he? She had good news to share.  
“Hello, Margaret,”   
Meg's eyes snapped to her favorite Mountie's face. He looked so handsome standing in her doorway, Stetson in hand, resplendent in his dress reds.   
“Benton, I've been waiting for you, come in.” Meg let her smile free, her eyes devouring him. From behind his back came a pink carnation. Somehow she’d always figured him for the romantic type, never mind how long it had been since anyone had brought her flowers.   
“It's beautiful, thank you, Benton.” He handed it to her, their hands lingering together.  
“I'm glad you like it, Margaret.”   
What woman in her right mind mind wouldn't like a handsome Mountie to bring her flowers, Meg thought as she smelled the soft, fragrant blossom.  
“My physical therapist said I'll be ready for outpatient treatment next week.” Excited, Meg couldn't contain her news any longer. She watched Benton's face light up. He took her hand a moment before speaking.  
“That's wonderful. It’s the best news I’ve heard all day, Margaret.” He looked down at his feet, pausing, “I'm very proud of you.”

 _What a dear, sweet man,_ Meg thought, tears stinging her eyes. She didn't know what to say. Instead she blinked away her tears and squeezed his hand.

“Oh my.”

Ben and Meg's hands pulled loose as their attention riveted on Nurse Rachel.

“My apologies, I didn't mean to intrude.” She looked from one to the other, feigning embarrassment. After all, she’d seen a lot worse than two people holding hands. “Ah, is there anything you need?” she addressed them in general.

“No, thank you. We were just about to take a stroll,” Meg answered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and finding her cane.

“We were?” Benton said, startled. Meg gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “We were, yes,” he stated firmly. Meg noticed the amused smile Nurse Rachel tried to hide. A moment later it didn't matter, Ben offered his arm like the gentleman he was. Smiling, Meg slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.

***

Rachel watched the Mountie escort his lady through the door and then along the hallway. They made a handsome couple; his dark hair, broad shoulder and uniform, her Snow White look and lithe figure. Rachel let slip a dreamy sigh as Ms. Thatcher gazed up at Constable Fraser and smiled. “Lucky girl,” Rachel whispered.

***

“Where would you like to go, Margaret? The gift shop or the cafeteria perhaps?” Ben asked, holding a door open for her.

“The gift shop sounds nice,” she answered softly.

 _I sound like a love-struck schoolgirl,_ Meg thought.

“The gift shop it is then.” Ben and Meg walked slowly along the pastel painted hall past patient rooms. Near the end of the hall Meg heard music, a song she recognized immediately – _Could I Have This Dance_ by Anne Murray.

“I love that song. My friends and I went to one of her concerts in high school.” Meg stopped to listen a moment.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, it was nice. Something about her voice is quite soothing.”

Benton smiled privately before turning and holding out his hand. “May I have this dance, Margaret?”

She found herself facing Benton, his blue gaze locked onto her. Was he simply asking for a dance, or perhaps more?

“Yes, I'd love to,” she answered in a breathy voice. They fell into step with the music, hands clasped and Ben's arm pulling Meg close. She felt the heat of his hand on her lower back through her button down blouse spreading along her spine. Benton's Sam Browne belt pressed against her stomach as they waltzed. Looking into his eyes, following his lead, Meg forgot her problems. Her aches and pains disappeared along with her fears. She enjoyed the weightless moment, the living in-sync with someone she could trust. She'd felt like that only one other time – atop the train.

“Bravo! Well done,” an older gentleman in a wheelchair spoke out, clapping lightly as the song faded. “Who taught you to dance like that, young man?”

Meg felt her face warm as Benton turned to answer the question. Looking around, she saw other patients and a few nurses stood in the doorways, watching. Dancing with Benton, she'd been enchanted, blind to their surroundings.

“Oh dear,” Meg uttered, her hand flying up to her cheek.

“That was beautiful,” a younger nurse offered.

“Let's take a bow then bow out of here,” Meg suggested to Ben in a whisper. Everyone clapped as the pair bowed briefly.

“Thank you kindly,” Ben said as Meg tugged on his hand.

In the elevator Meg released a nervous laugh. She shook her head as Ben stared at her. It had been ages since anyone had caught her doing something like that. The last time, now that she thought about it, had been Buck Frobisher on the train. Something inside Meg had changed since then. Now she didn't feel the need to deny her feelings, or order Ben to suppress his. She couldn't anyway, and it had nothing to do with being on medical leave.

“You dance very well, Margaret. I'd very much like to take you dancing sometime,” Ben spoke out of the blue, breaking into Meg's thoughts.

“That would be nice, maybe after I'm free of the cane.” Meg lifted the offending instrument she still needed to help with her recovery. Dancing with Benton she'd held onto him for balance, the cane forgotten. Her heart had tilted though.

 _He wants to take me dancing,_ she thought with a smile.

“First floor, cafeteria to the left, gift shop to the right,” Ben introduced as the elevator doors slid open. Offering his arm, he and Meg exited.

Ben and Meg milled around the small shop, Meg reading greeting cards while Ben perused their small selection of novels.

“What have you found, Benton?” Meg asked, looking around his shoulder.

“Oh dear, Margaret.” He jumped, whirling around as he tried to hide a book behind his back.

“What did you find?” Meg asked again, trying to peek around him.

“It's a, ah, present.” Ben scooted around, away from Meg.

“For me?” she asked, delighted to be teased.

“Yes! But for your birthday.” His eyes darted to the left for only a second. “Yes, for your birthday.” Ben scooted even farther around as Meg used her free hand to attempt a snatch.

“But, Margaret, it's for your birthday.” Ben tried to slip away.

“My birthday is months away in July. Let me see it.” Meg backed the Mountie against the checkout counter and pulled the book away from him.

“ _10,000 Baby Names_ by Bruce Lansky.” Meg heard her voice turn brittle as she read the title.

“How quaint, baby names.” She handed it back, the happy-go-lucky spell they'd been under shattered. Why did it bother her? A reminder of the miscarriages, facing this new pregnancy or the fact that Fraser felt the need to hide it from her? All of it perhaps?

“Margaret, forgive me, it was to be a present closer to the baby's birth.” He faltered when she looked up at him, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears.

“What if I miscarry, like the others? Then what?” This wasn't the first baby name book someone had bought for her. Angry and afraid, Meg turned and left the gift shop.

At the elevator Ben caught up to her, having jogged. He stood between her and the open doors. Meg swallowed hard, trying to choke down her tears. She cursed at herself for snapping at Ben. He'd meant to be kind to her.

 _Well done, Meg, well done,_ she fumed to herself.

“You didn't have to hide it from me, Benton. I'm not made of glass.”

“You're right, Margaret, you aren't made of glass. I should have shown you the book,” Ben admitted but didn't move to let her into the elevator.

Why wouldn't he move? Why wouldn't he be sweet and let her have her way?

“Running from the memories – from the pain – won't make them go away.”

Meg felt herself drowning in the depths of Ben's blue eyes. The vortex of his own past pain pulled her farther below the surface. In the abyss she saw a kindred spirit. Meg let her tears fall. She hadn’t stayed in the gift shop long enough to see his reaction to the news about her previous miscarriages, and even now, he was calm and collected. There was no sign that the news was new to him at all. What could she reveal that he hadn't already seen?

Ben pulled a white, cotton handkerchief from his pocket and began drying her tears. Meg enjoyed his tender touch.

“It's late, let me treat you to a snack, dessert if you'd like,” Ben offered.

“Something chocolate sounds good,” Meg chuckled, feeling a little awkward but a lot better.

****

The next day Ray pulled into a handicapped parking spot outside the consulate and honked the horn. He needed the Mountie – now.

“Yes, Ray, I'm coming.” Fraser quickly opened the Riv door, lowered the front seat for Dief before sliding in himself. The wolf positioned his head between the humans, eager to go.

“Ray, must you park illegally in front of the consulate?” The detective rolled his eyes at the rhetorical question Fraser asked every time.

“Next time, Fraser. Right now we're set to meet Gio. He's got somethin' for us about Thatcher's case.” Ray gunned the car into the frantic stream of lunch time traffic.

“If we arrive in one piece that is,” Fraser commented dryly as the green machine lurched forward then slammed him to the right.

“No time for manners, Constable Fraser, we have a case to solve.”

***

The sour scent of whiskey wafted up a moment before Gio took a sip from his silver hip flask. He thanked his Uncle Vito every time he did for the twenty-first birthday present.

“Yo, Rob, they're here,” Gio said, knocking on the rear door of the work van his younger brother hid inside.

A younger version of Gio stepped out wearing a matching pair of putrid yellow coveralls. Both men watched as a shining, green Buick turned a hard left, coming toward them. Rob the younger, shoved his shaking hands into the coveralls' pockets.

“Don't worry 'bout the flat foot, it's the Mountie who's the real deal,” Gio spoke low, feeling nervous himself.

The brothers stood watching as a long nosed, bald pated guy in a designer suit unfolded from the driver's side. On the other side the Mountie stepped out, all clean air and as Canadian as maple syrup.

“What, no horse?” Rob joked. Gio killed his brother's snicker with a jab to the gut.

“Shut up an' pay attention,” Gio barked. Rob shifted on his feet, straightening his coveralls in anticipation.

“Hello, Gio, Rob,” the long nosed guy greeted them unenthusiastically.

“Detective Vecchio, Constable Fraser,” Gio spoke, nodding slightly. Meanwhile, Rob stared at the huge, white dog sitting beside the Mountie's feet. It licked its chops as it stared back at him, it's fangs gleaming and yellow eyes intent on him.

“Don't mind Diefenbaker, Mr. Donetta, he's simply relishing the last bit of Philly cheese steak I gave him at lunch,” the Mountie assured Rob.

“Good to know, good to know,” Rob managed, still eyeing the animal.

“Let's not stand out here for the world to see, shall we?” Gio said grimly, hitching a thumb toward the town house they'd parked outside of.

Inside, the stench of death hit the four men like a ton of bricks. Gio led them through the foyer, living room, and kitchen, then, thankfully, to an awning covered patio. Everyone, except Fraser, released held breaths.

“So, how's this work?” Rob asked, looking from detective to Mountie and back again.

“Tell us what you go an' we'll see what we can do,” the detective piped up, pulling a notebook from an inside jacket pocket.

“Gio said you wanted to know who in Manetti's operation beat up an' raped that Canadian broad.” Rob pointed his thumb toward his brother.

Instantly, Gio saw the Mountie's blue eyes spark before turning dark and foreboding. The other brother thought, “oh crap” as Constable Fraser stepped closer.

“Mr. Donetta, please refrain from calling her 'that Canadian broad', her name is Inspector Thatcher, I'd prefer you use it.”

Gio felt Rob move backward, his spine pressing against the patio railing.

“Yeah, okay,” he answered mildly.

“Thank you, Mr. Donetta.”

Gio elbowed his brother, prompting him to get on with things.

“See, I'm tryin' to get out of Manetti's operation. I got a girl an' she wants to get married, start a family.” Rob shrugged as if to explain everything.

“Yeah, what's all this got to do with Thatcher?” Ray prompted roughly.

“I was there the night Manetti ordered it done, he came into the basement an' talked to Dante, his right hand man, told him to nab the Mountie's boss, rough her up an' dump her on Dudley Do-Right's doorstep. His words, not mine.”

Gio heard a faint growl, low enough so he couldn't tell if it were the dog or the Mountie. Both looked equally capable of ripping out a throat right then.

“Will you testify to this, Mr. Donetta?” Vecchio asked, his hazel eyes locked onto Rob.

“Whoa, you mean in court? I don't know, man, I mean Manetti ain't no one to screw around with. I'm stickin' my neck out just bein' this close to a cop.”

“Look, we ain't the only ones after Manetti, help us and it'll help you or don't and go down with the rest,” Vecchio laid it out.

Gio watched his brother's face pale. Did Rob really love this girl enough to stick his neck out that far, he wondered.

“The cops can keep me safe, right? Maybe help me go underground or somethin'?” Rob had begun to sweat. Right then Gio knew how much his younger brother cared about his girlfriend.

“I'll have to talk to my lieutenant and the DA. It might be enough, especially if you can help nail Manetti on counterfeiting.” The detective pulled cards from behind his notebook pad and handed them to Rob and Gio.

“My number at the Canadian Consulate is also written on the back, should you be unable to reach Detective Vecchio,” Constable Fraser added helpfully, tipping his hat before he and Vecchio left.

Rob sagged against the patio rail as soon as the cops and dog left. Gio felt himself relax too. This was just the beginning he figured.

“I don't know if Manetti's gonna get me or a heart attack,” Rob said as he hung his head over the rail.

“I oughta kill you for getting involved in Manetti's operation in the first place.” Gio wagged his index finger under Rob's nose.

“But you won't.” Rob gave him a teasing grin; ever the kid brother.

Gio shoved him. “Come on, we got a job to clean up.”

***


	8. Chapter 8

****

Meg sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her bags packed and ready. Absently, she squeezed a stress ball with her right hand, a habit she'd developed during physical therapy.

“Hello, Ms. Thatcher, ready to leave?” Nurse Rachel smiled as she tapped on the open door.

“Just as soon as Fraser arrives,” Meg answered, a nervous smile pulling at her lips.

“He's on his way down the hall now.” The nurse moved aside to reveal the Mountie walking briskly toward them. Dief zig zagged behind him, sniffing every door.

“M, ah, Inspector, pardon my tardiness,” the Mountie began, doffing his Stetson.

He’d apologize for dying on his own deathbed, Meg thought to herself, rolling her eyes. “Benton, you're ten minutes early and please, call me Meg or Margaret, Nurse Rachel and the whole hospital knows we're a couple by now.” she chided him. She almost laughed when Ben began tugging at his tunic collar.

“Yes, I suppose they do,” he spoke low.

“I'll fetch the release papers.” Nurse Rachel smiled. Turning, her waist length braid swayed merrily from side-to-side.

“She's a good egg,” Meg commented, waiting for Ben to greet her properly.

“Yes, she is,” Ben agreed, pulling a daisy from behind his back. Gently, he tucked it behind Meg's left ear. She'd begun to see a more affectionate side to the Mountie, and she adored it.

“Thank you, Ben,” Meg tried to stifle a giggle. She caught his fingers in her hair and slid her hand into his, gazes locked. Meg watched him blink, surprised and then smiled tenderly.

“Here you go,” Nurse Rachel's voice broke the spell. Meg squeezed Ben's hand before letting go. The day had come; she was going home.   
Nurse Rachel explained the paperwork and Dr. Gunther's parting instructions, as well as giving her a follow-up appointment card. Next came Herbert, the physical therapist who'd been so patient with Meg.  
“Congratulations, Ms. Thatcher,” he grinned, hiding his dark eyes behind crinkling cheeks.  
“Thank you, Herbert, you've been a godsend.” Meg shook his hand with a grateful smile. Herbert shook Ben's hand as well before giving Meg a schedule of exercises and a return appointment.

“Oh it’s not just me, Ms. Thatcher. You worked hard too,” Herbert replied. In truth, as frustrating as he’d been and as angry as he’d made her with rehabilitation exercises that took her more than a day to relearn, she’d miss him.  
When Herbert left Nurse Rachel stepped forward. “That's everything, Ms. Thatcher. You have my best wishes.” She looked from Meg to Ben.  
Meg felt an uncharacteristic lump forming in her throat. If Nurse Rachel hadn't given her a piece of her mind and the oxblood journal, Meg never would have given Ben a chance.  
“I owe you so much. You helped me see the truth.” Meg took Ben's hand in her left and Nurse Rachel's in her right.   
“How do you mean?” The granny cheeked nurse put a finger alongside her nose and pulled Meg into a quick hug. Next she took Ben's hands in both of hers.   
“Take care of each other. You have something special together.” Wiping her eyes, Nurse Rachel turned to go.   
“She's right,” Ben said, laying a  gentle hand on Meg's shoulder.  
“Yes, we do,” Meg agreed, wiping a stray tear; stupid pregnancy hormones.   
***   
Ray and Diefenbaker waited in Visitor Parking, the detective leaning against the rear fender.   
“Inspector, good to see you up an' around,” Ray greeted Meg gregariously, adjusting his garishly loud tie as he stood up straight. A passing car stirred the trees littering the parking area around them.  
“Detective Vecchio, hello,” Meg greeted him cordially. They'd spoken at length about Meg's assault since she'd woken. She still thought of him as careless and brash but had begun to reevaluate her total dislike of the American.  
Ben and Ray loaded Meg's things while she situated herself in the front passenger seat, Dief already in the rear. Ben wiggled in with the wolf a few minutes later.  
“And the Vecchio taxi is off,” Ray muttered, backing out of the parking spot.   
***   
At first glance, Meg's apartment sat just as she'd left it more than three months before.   
“I hope you don't mind, Margaret, but I took the liberty of tidying up while you were in the hospital, as well as collecting your mail.” Ben walked in behind her, a suitcase in hand.  
“That was thoughtful, thank you,” she murmured, eyes scanning the living room. Now that she looked, Meg noticed that her curtains had been drawn and everything dusted. It felt strange to come home.  
Dief whined, sitting on the 'Welcome' mat outside Meg's door.  
“I told you, Ray offered to drop you at the apartment,” Ben admonished the wolf.  
“He can come in – just this once,” Meg relented. She felt like having company suddenly, even a wolf.   
“I found some tea in your cupboard while I was tidying up, would you like some?” Ben offered once he'd closed the door behind Dief. The wolf sat near the door, eyes trained on the Mountie in the kitchen door way.  
Meg looked up from scanning her living room. She wondered who'd paid her rent and utilities while she'd recuperated in the hospital.  
“Tea, yes, thank you, Ben,” she answered.   
A few minutes later he returned with two cups, the kettle and sugar. Together, they sat on Meg's suede, navy sofa, tinkering with their tea.  
“Ben,” Meg began, setting her cup on the end table.  
“Yes?”   
He stared at her, giving her his full attention. Somehow she was suddenly Very Aware of just how blue his eyes were.  
“My apartment rent, I wasn't paid ahead, my landlord should have evicted me weeks ago.”   
The Mountie stiffened as he listened.   
“What do you know about that?” Meg questioned. She watched him begin digging at his eyebrow, probably trying to tell the truth without upsetting her, Meg figured.  
“I spoke with the landlord, informed him you were hospitalized,”   
Meg cut in, “and he didn't care.”   
“Yes, Mr. Turner was unsympathetic, so I paid the rent for you,” Ben finally admitted, tugging on his ear.  
Meg sat back, flummoxed. She knew Ben _cared,_ he'd written as much in the oxblood journal. This was astounding. The rent for her apartment would have cost him a hefty portion of his paycheck.  
“Why would you do that?” she asked softly, shaking her head.   
Ben shrugged, as though helping someone with their rent was the most natural thing in the world.“It's only money,” he answered, taking up his tea once more.  
“Oh, Benton, it's so much more,” she insisted. “You made certain I'd have a home to come back to. Thank you.” Meg scooted closer to him on the couch and took his free hand in hers. Their gazes locked for a moment, a warm connection between the two words couldn't explain.  
A sharp bark from Dief broke the spell. The wolf scratched at the door, whining before he  looked over his shoulder at Fraser.  
“I should go. Dief, needs a walk, and you need to rest.” Ben pulled loose of Meg's hand. She wondered if she'd moved too fast.  
“I'll see you tomorrow?” Meg asked, hating the desperation in her voice. Her heart rose when he turned back, a tenderness in his eyes.   
“Yes. If you need anything tonight feel free to call.”  
“Ben,” Meg smiled. He lifted his brows, prompting her to continue.  
“You don't have a telephone,” she reminded him. They both smiled, Meg chuckling. “Never mind. I'll call Mr. Mustaffi.”   
Ben nodded, “Good night, Margaret.” Putting on his Stetson Ben left her alone in her apartment.  
***   
Ben closed the door quietly, Dief already standing by the elevator – waiting. Ben didn't want to leave. It felt wrong to leave Meg alone. A whine from Dief brought Ben back to his reason _for_ leaving. He straightened his Stetson and walked to the elevator. As he did, logic kicked in. Meg could take care of herself or Dr. Gunther wouldn't have released her.  
Still, he wanted to turn around and settle in beside Meg for the night. She'd wanted him to stay. Ben heard it in her voice. But would that have been the right thing to do?  
He didn't know.  
***    
“Well, sitting here won't make me feel any better,” Meg said to herself aloud. After finishing her tea, she gingerly carried the tray into the kitchen. All around sat reminders that Ben had tidied up: perfectly folded tea towels, crumb-free toaster, neatly ordered cream and sugar canisters. Meg wondered what living with the Mountie would be like. Would his very structured nature suffocate her? Would her temper get the better of her and push him away?  
“You're getting ahead of yourself, Meg,” she whispered, rinsing out her mug.   
Once she’d set herself the task of unpacking her hospital bag and refilling her toiletries, Meg found Ben had only done a cursory tidying there. She laughed, imagining his embarrassment at finding her horde of feminine products.   
That would be something to see, she thought, smiling.   
Much like her bathroom, Meg's bedroom had only been generally tidied. Her bed linens though had been laundered and the bed re-made; with military precision.  
“Ah, my own bed, it's good to be back!” Meg said aloud, running her hand over her navy and maroon, brushed cotton duvet.  
Now if I only had someone to share it, she thought morosely.  
Meg puttered around her apartment, doing her at-home physical therapy exercises until she felt tired enough to sleep. Even so, she soon fell into an all too familiar dream.   
***   
Meg jerked awake, and rushed out to the balcony railing, drawing in lungfuls of cool, Chicago air. When she looked down, she saw a familiar figure looked up at her, and felt much calmer knowing he was on his way to see her.  
Meg waved for him to come up. With a tip of his Stetson, the Mountie made his way across the street. A few minutes later Meg's doorbell rang. Before he could ring again, she opened the door and threw her arms around Ben. She laid her cheek against his leather jacket's shoulder.   
“Margaret, what's wrong?” Gently, he put his arms around her, his right hand stroking her wild hair. She choked out one word – nightmare. Meg let her tears flow, listening to Ben murmur comforting words as he held her.  
“Would you like tea, or coffee perhaps?” Ben asked once Meg’s breathing had steadied somewhat.   
“No, just stay with me for a bit?” A sniffle escaped Meg as her tears subsided.  
“Of course, I'm not going anywhere.” With his thumbs, Ben wiped away her tears. He guided her to the couch and eased her down. Meg relaxed when she felt him settle down beside her.   
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ben's voice coaxed. He wanted to take the fear and pain he saw in her eyes away. It was no secret that the attack and then anxiety about the pregnancy had taken a toll on her.  
Meg ran her hand through her hair. “I don't know if I can. It was horrible, Ben.” She shook her head, pulling into herself.   
Ben wished he could absorb her horror, to embrace her and leech it away into himself. He slid his arm around her shoulders and held her close to his side.  
“I'm here, Meg, I'm not going anywhere,” he repeated, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple.  
“I'm glad for that.” He felt her rest her head against his shoulder. Hope filled his heart, but Ben wondered why such hope had to come from such tragedy.

“Tell me about the dream?” he offered.  
“It was awful.” She stuttered the first few words, as though trying to make her mouth work properly. “It started like the others but this time one of the men took out a hunting knife. He …” Meg shivered. “He stabbed me, took the baby.” Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. “ _He took the baby_ , Benton,” she repeated, staring at his shirt.  
“Nothing will happen to the baby. You have my word.” Ben’s voice turned to steel, squeezing her shoulder in reassurance.  
“Thank you, Ben.” Meg smiled back, laying her hand over his. “I know all this stress isn't good for the baby, thank you for your help.”   
“I'm happy to be of service.” He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek, gazing into her eyes. Ben hadn't understood what drowning in someone's eyes really meant until then. His heart already lost to her, Ben dared not dream she felt the same.  
Together, they sat on Meg's couch until her eyes began to droop. In the kitchen a clocked chimed two AM.  
“You should sleep, Margaret, it's late.” Ben helped her stand.  
“Technically, it's early.” she wagged a finger at him, teasing.  
“Ah, so it is,” he agreed, playing along. Seeing her improved mood bolstered his own. Meg had so rarely teased him, or anyone, Ben felt special. It meant she felt a whole new level of comfort with him.   
“Sleep tight, Ben,” Meg's voice brought him out of his thoughts.  
“Sweet dreams, Meg,” he heard himself say as he looked back, his hand on her door knob. He thought how truly beautiful she seemed; barefoot, sans make-up, dressed in a plain, cotton gown.   
He turned before he weakened and did something silly, like sweep her into a kiss. But, would sweeping the woman you loved into a kiss _really_ be considered such? Getting outside into the cool, night air would help to clear his head of such thoughts, he was sure of it. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long between posts. Real life has been crazy busy.

Chapter Nine   
Ray adjusted his tie roughly. Grimacing, he  muttered, “Not enough solid evidence, unreliable witness, my ass.”   
“Good morning, Ray, how are you?” Fraser greeted the detective, all bright eyed and bushy Mountie tailed.   
“What's so stinkin' good about it!” Ray snarled. The Mountie's smile dimmed, making Ray feel guilty.  
“I take it D.A. St. Laurent resisted Robert Donetta's testimony.” The Mountie hung his Stetson on Ray's coat tree. Uniformed officers went about their business; phones ringing and suspects complaining. Ray plopped down behind his desk as Ben took his usual place across the desk.  
“Bingo, Benny. She wouldn't hear me out, even got Welsh to back her up.” Ray growled, running a hand down his long face.  
“Hmmm…”   
“What's up with you, Fraser? You looked happy as a clam.” Maybe asking would distract Ray from the St. Laurent fiasco.    
Ah well. It couldn't hurt.  
“Having a good day, Ray.”   
The Mountie's casual reply didn't fool Ray.  
“Wouldn't have anything to do with Thatcher, would it?” Ray remembered not to call her 'the Dragon Lady' as he usually did. Investigating her attack had given him an almost soft spot for her.   
“Ray!” Fraser admonished; making the detective chuckle inwardly.  
“Vecchio, you have a call on three. Donetta.” Elaine's voice interrupted as she walked up to Ray's desk. Any further teasing the detective had in mind flew away.  
“Hello, Fraser,” Elaine greeted, her voice soft. The Mountie gave her a perfunctory smile and a nod.   
Ray shook his head as he yanked up his phone. “Vecchio.”   
“This is Gio. Someone's after Rob. One of Manetti's guys shot at him last night.”    
Ray motioned Fraser around the desk to listen in.  
“Where's Rob now?” Ray asked, searching for a pen and paper.  
“No, not over the phone. You gotta meet me, same place as last time.” Gio hung up. Ray .glared at the handset before setting it back.  
“Let's roll.” The detective grabbed his coffee and jacket.  
***   
Gio Donetta pulled the collar of his jacket up and adjusted the brim of his knit golf cap. He hoped no one noticed him loitering outside the house of a dead man.   
Gio's heart relaxed before tensing again when he saw that big, green boat Vecchio drove. A moment later and the detective, Mountie and wolf were walking toward him. Gio met them at the door.  
“This way,” Gio opened the door, this time leading them through a professionally cleaned living room and to a basement door in the kitchen. A naked light bulb burned, illuminating a furnished basement.   
“He's down here. I didn't know where else to take him, figured this was safe enough.”   
Rob Donetta lay on a worn couch, reading a magazine. A large, white bandage covered his arm, obviously placed there by his brother.  
“Gio, what's these two doing here? I thought you knew someone who'd get me outta town.” Rob jumped to his feet, anger drawing him as tight as a bow string.  
Older brother turned to face Rob. “I said I know someone who'd keep you safe. You know what they say about the Mountie.” Gio put his hands on his hips, paternal exasperation radiating off him.   
“Mr. Donetta,” the Mountie began.  
“Yes?” Rob and Gio answered in unison.  
“Ah, Robert, you have my word, nothing will harm you as long as you are under my protection.”   
Gio watched the Mountie gauging his intent. The way he met Rob's eyes head on and spoke with authority impressed him.  
“C'mon, Rob, let the Mountie help or keep runnin' 'til Manetti takes you out.” Gio urged. He watched his brother sag, tension ebbing from his slight body.  
“Alright. Why not? I'm probably screwed either way.” Rob shrugged, one hand going to his bandaged arm. “Good thing Manetti’s goon wasn’t a better shot, it’s just a crease.” the young man grimaced as he fiddled with the hastiily applied bandage.   
“Good, now if you'll allow me to see to your wound.” The Mountie turned to Vecchio and asked him to fetch a First Aid Kit.  
As Fraser dressed Rob's wound they talked about sneaking him out of the house and across town to the consult. Manetti's operation knew Gio's work van, a puce yellow monstrosity. Vecchio's Riv wasn't any better, what with the Mountie and wolf riding shotgun.   
“Couldn't you borrow a consular car, Fraser?” Ray asked, pacing back and forth.  
“Consular vehicles are strictly for consular business, Ray.” the Mountie shook his head seriously.  
“Looks like catching Thatcher's attackers would constitute as 'Consular Business', Fraser.” the detective mentioned.  
“Hmm, I suppose it would. Although the diplomatic license plates and Canadian flags may tip off Manetti's men.” Fraser pointed out as he straightened out the First Aid Kit.  
“Just once, Fraser, why couldn't you be normal and have a car of your own?” Vecchio ran a hand over his thinning hair in frustration.   
“Ray …” Fraser began.  
“Never mind. I'll see if I can borrow Frannie's car. She owes me one anyway.” He cut the Mountie off with a wave.  
***   
ONE HOUR LATER …   
Ray fussed and fumed as he pulled Frannie's Cougar alongside Gio and Rob's hiding spot. He hated driving anything but his beloved Buick.  
“Next time I'm makin' sure Frannie gets a real car.” he muttered to himself as he looked up and down the street, checking for anyone watching. Gio and Rob hurried out of the house. Gio rode shotgun while Rob scrunched down in the back seat.  
“Alright, here goes.” Ray pulled into traffic, heading toward a slice of Canada in Chicago.   
Ray dropped the Donetta brothers off half a block from the consulate and circled before finding a parking spot. He hoped Rob Donetta didn't run for it as soon as he saw the chance.  
“Hey, Fraser. You sure Moffat is good with this?” The inspector hadn't lasted long after Fraser's first arrival in Chicago. Ray wondered why.  
“Inspector Moffat is in full support of apprehending the criminal element.” the Mountie deadpaned, looking out the window.  
Uh huh, sure he was. “You haven't told him.” Ray replied.   
“Not a word, Ray.” Fraser answered.   
All Ray could do was shake his head and grin. The Mountie wasn't so different after all.  
***   
Meg did her last leg lift with a groan. Physical therapy was not her idea of exercise. She wanted to go for a run, even on a treadmill. At least that would feel like going somewhere – progress.  
With a groan she sat up to answer her ringing phone.  
“Hello, Canadian Consulate …” Meg caught herself before launching into French.  
“Margaret, ah, Inspector Thatcher?” Fraser asked, his sentence turned up at the end.  
“Yes, Ben, of course it’s me. What?” she winced at her own harsh tone of voice.   
“I called to inform you I won't be around to see you this evening.” He sounded as though he'd bit off a 'Sir'.   
“Oh, too bad, I thought we could … we could talk, some more.” She sounded lame to her own ears. Meg wiped her forehead clear of sweat as she berated herself silently.  
“I'd enjoy talking with you very much, Margaret.”   
Meg stifled a dreamy sigh at the sound of his low, rumbling voice. She wanted to see his desire darkened blue eyes and listen to him say her name that way again.  
“Be careful, Ben.” she breathed.  
“I'll see you tomorrow, Margaret, good night.”    
Meg murmured goodnight before they hung up. With a goodnight like that resounding in her ear, she looked forward to a good morning.  
***   
Ben looked at the telephone hand set in his hand for a long moment, lingering over Meg's voice in his memory. He'd never known a woman so mercurial, snapping at him one minute and sounding so unsure the next. But, Meg excited him like no one else. She left him befuddled.  
Ben shook his head to clear his mind. He needed to focus on keeping Rob and Gio Donetta safe. That would serve Margaret better in the long run.   
“Yo, Fraser, what do ya want on your pizza?” Ray's voice brought Ben back to the business at hand.   
“Whatever you like, Ray.” Ben answered, not really caring.   
***   



	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten   
The Next Day …   
Ray, Fraser, Rob and Gio sat around the kitchen table eating while Dief sat attentively, hoping for scraps. Turnbull, Moffat and the other consular staff had yet to arrive for the day.   
“Thanks for breakfast, Detective Vecchio.” Rob Donetta spoke as he forked over his third sausage patty.  
“No problem, better enjoy it while it lasts 'cause fast food's about all you'll get in protective custody.” Ray shrugged, leaning back in his chair, a mug of coffee in one hand. Fraser was a good cook but nothing topped Ma Vecchio's cooking.  
“Just as long as I'm safe.” Rob waved him off, hazel eyes dancing. He wasn't a bad guy, just direction-less.  
“What time is ADA St. Laurent scheduled to arrive today, Ray?” Fraser asked, sipping bark tea.   
“Around eleven, then I'm takin' Louise to lunch.” Ray answered with a slick grin. He straightened the collar of his white dress shirt before smoothing his navy tie.  
“To discuss Inspector Thatcher's case?” Fraser asked, hoping to remind Ray of his priorities.  
“Yeah, among other things.” the detective's grin broadened. Rob laughed, Fraser did not while Gio shook his head.  
A few minutes before eleven the doorbell rang, it's deep voiced chimes adding to the solemn atmosphere.   
“That's Louise,” Ray smiled as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.  
“Shall we, Ray?” Fraser picked up a state-of-the-art camcorder borrowed from the Chicago Police Department.  
Ray allowed Fraser through the door first; Dief cutting through as well. ADA St. Laurent met them in the hall, accompanied by Constable Turnbull.  
“Louise, hello, looking lovely, as always.” Ray complimented as he shook her slim hand.  
“Vecchio,” she greeted coolly.  
“I'll have tea ready in just a jiff.” Constable Turnbull assured them with a smile before turning on his heel to leave.  
“A jiff? Who says that anymore?” Louise shook her head as Ray and Fraser stood back for her to enter the drawing room.   
Rob and Gio waited, eyes searching around the room. Rob jiggled his foot nervously. Gio seemed more lost in thought than anything. Ray introduced the Donetta brothers as Fraser set up the camcorder and microphone. Ray and Louise stood side-by-side, both eying Rob Donetta. The younger man shifted nervously in his chair, the camcorder capturing his every movement.  
Fraser began, “Will you state your name, for the record, please?”  
“Paul Roberto Donetta,” he answered mechanically.  
“Your birth date, address, parents' names and your current phone number, please, Mr. Donetta.”   
“Constable Fraser, is this a statement or the census?” St. Laurent cut in gruffly, her   
green eyes narrowed.   
“I was simply trying to clearly establish Mr. Donetta's identity, Ms. St. Laurent.” Fraser stated.  
“Can we get on with it, I ain't gettin' any younger.” Rob prompted, looking between the cops and the ADA, an annoyed expression on his thin face.  
“Please, proceed.” St. Laurent said, crossing her arms over her chest.  
Rob rattled off his birth date, parents' names, his street address and phone number before coming to the meat of the story.  
“A little over a year ago I got involved in Manetti's operation as a low level flunkie, an errand boy mostly. I didn't want to but I needed cash quick; gambling debts. Arlow, one of Manetti's lieutenants, said I could pay off my debts to him an' make money besides if I took a bunch of counterfeits around town…”  
Fraser’s blank expression did nothing for the other man’s nerves, but he kept going.

“You know the drill; spend a fake twenty on a can of soda, get real money in change. Arlow said nobody got hurt by fake money, sounded easy enough.”   
Rob paused, puffing out his cheeks. He knew better now.  
“Then about four, maybe four an' a half months ago, I'm at the basement with Arlow an' a 

bunch of other flunkies,” Fraser held up a hand to stop Rob.  
“These 'flunkies' names would be very helpful, Mr. Donetta.” They needed specifics to build a case upon – to generate leads.  
“Let's see, Arlow Crusoe, Derrick “Hammerhead” Tolson, Ernie “Pretty Boy” Fletcher, Chester Goodall, Grady Peets and a few others I don't know by name. Anyway, Manetti comes in all hot under the collar an' says to Arlow, 'Take some men, find the Mountie's boss, rough her up, do whatever, then dump her on Dudley Do-Right's doorstep.'  I got the impression he didn't care if she got there dead or alive.  
Arlow took Derrick, Charles, Grady and two of the others with him right then. I guess it was one of them that, uh, roughed up your boss, Constable Fraser.” Rob sat back in his chair, shaking his head.  
“What were you doing through all this?” Vecchio asked, studying the younger man.  
“Running a money counting machine.” Rob shifted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.   
“Uh huh, really?” Vecchio nodded, still eying Donetta steadily.  
“Okay, I was pitchin' quarters with Ernie. I won like twelve bucks off him.” Rob admitted huffily.  
“Is there anything else you'd like to clarify, Mr. Donetta?” St. Laurent asked, feigning neutrality. One little white lie cold unravel the strongest case. That wouldn't do at all. Fraser agreed, it wouldn't help Thatcher's case. She was counting on him to bring her attackers to justice.  
After a few more questions Fraser showed the Donetta brothers to their rooms before Ray left to take St. Laurent to lunch.   
***   
Ben contemplated calling Meg before resuming his duties.   
“She'll undoubtedly be busy.” Ben said to Dief, who lay by the cot Ben had set up for himself. The wolf looked up at the clock across from Ben's desk – one o'clock in the afternoon.   
“She may have an appointment or take a nap, she hasn't been sleeping well.” he argued.  
Dief rolled his eyes and groaned softly.   
“I am not being stubborn.” the Mountie shot back.  
“I'll call her tomorrow morning.” Ben said to himself.  
***   
That Night …   
Meg tossed and turned, trying to sleep but failing. She dreaded the nightmares she knew would torment her. Blurred images of her attackers' faces and the feel of their vice-like grips that held her down plagued her dreams. Sometimes she felt the pain of the stab wound to the thigh, felt someone stomp viscously on her hand, an overwhelming jolt as someone kicked her in the head.   
In the darkness alone, Meg cried out, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Cheap, masculine cologne hung in the back of her throat. Bitter copper coated her tongue.  
Finally, Meg sat up, struggling for air. She dashed to the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet, then hastily flushing it all away. Reeling, she washed her face in cold water before walking into her living room. Opening the sliding glass door, Meg breathed in a draft of cool, night air. She looked down at the street below, hoping to see Fraser looking back at her.

“He said he wouldn't be around to see me, whatever it was must have ran long.” Sighing, Meg turned, hugging herself as she shuffled to the front door to check the locks – again.

“This isn't healthy. I have to get out of this apartment, I'm going crazy.” Meg thought turning on the TV for distraction.

Flipping through the stations proved fruitless; re-runs of M*A*S*H, cooking programs, shopping channels, infomercials and the news just didn't suit her anxious mood. Maybe a book, she thought. It had been ages since Meg had had time to enjoy a novel. She perused her bookcase, looking at favorite titles and authors.

“Hmm, do I want romance or adventure. Both? Sci-Fi maybe?” she mused aimlessly. She hadn't thought about the attack in ten whole minutes; a record.

“A ha!” she exclaimed, pulling out Cyrano de Bergerac.

Meg thought back to the first time she'd read it as a teen. Her eleventh grade literature teacher had been a hopeless romantic who loved the classics; Shakespeare, Chaucer, the Bronte sisters, Byron and Shelley. Most of the year had been a snooze-fest, until Meg had been introduced to Rostand. Cyrano captured her imagination though. Love from afar, self-sacrifice, a bit of comedy and angst had appealed to her teenage sense of drama.

Meg settled down on the couch beneath a lamp. The play took her away from her fears and problems until exhaustion claimed her.

Tomorrow she'd call Ottawa and her doctors about going back to work.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks, this is the last installment of the year. 2018 will bring a shiny, new chapter.

Chapter Eleven

The Next Day …

Meg sat at the table,  sipping her orange juice and wishing it were strong, black coffee,  when the phone rang.

“Good morning,” Meg answered dryly. Her nose wrinkled as she set the juice glass down.

“Margaret, good morning. How do you feel?” Benton's voice lifted Meg's souring mood.

“Stiff, with a side of morning sickness. My loosest slacks wouldn't fit this morning.” She couldn't help but sigh. A jumper dress and blouse felt inadequate for consular business.

Meg heard Ben's pause stretch. She took pity on him. “I've decided to return to work; at least part-time.” She waited for his automatic caution – which didn't materialize.

“Ben?” The silence concerned  her.

“Do you think … Is that …” His voice dropped into silence once more.

Meg closed her eyes, not knowing how to answer; how to proceed. On cue, she began to babble.

“I'm not even sure Dr. Gunther or Ottawa will agree. I wouldn't be able to do any field work … the baby … my injuries …” Finally, she stopped herself.

“Margaret,” Ben spoke softly, “I only want what's best for you and the baby. Consider your decision carefully.”

His words made Meg feel reassured and guilty at the same time.

“I will; we can talk about it later.” She shook her head in resignation.

“Margaret,” Ben's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“I'll see you tonight; I've missed you.”

His voice sent heat zinging through Meg's blood. He'd only used that warm, timbre since they'd come to an understanding.

“I've missed you too, Benton.” Meg couldn't help but smile.

***

“I miss you, honey, sweetie, sugar plum.” Ray's high-pitched, teasing voice made Ben jerk his head up in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, Benny, you got it bad.” Ray chuckled as he walked into the Mountie's office. He received a deadpan expression for his joke.

“Ray, was there something you needed?” Ben asked, settling into his office chair.

“Yeah, I got the call this morning, the DA agreed to put the Donettas into a safe house while they prosecute Manetti. We got, 'em, Fraser.” A huge grin split Ray's face. The detective went on to give Fraser the full scoop. Due to Manetti's massive network, the Donetta brothers would first go to a safe house then into Witness Protection.

Until Witness Protection took over it was up to  the Twenty-seventh Precinct to keep Rob and Gio Donetta safe.

“See Thatcher while you can, Fraser, 'cause we're on babysitting detail.” Ray informed with a shrug.

“I'll take that under advisement, Ray.” Leaving Meg even for a few days felt wrong. Ben needed to know she was safe and healthy. How would he know if he couldn't call or drop by to check on her? Ben's mind turned over the problem as he and Ray discussed arrangements. The detective must have sensed his friend's train of thought because Ray said;

“Maybe Elaine would stay with Thatcher for a while,  at least  until Witness Protection picks up the Donetta brothers.”

Ben looked up from his paperwork. “That's a marvelous idea, Ray. I'll call Elaine right now.” He jerked the phone up and began dialing the Civilian Aide's direct extension.

“What's Thatcher gonna say though?”

Ray had a point. Meg had an independent, stubborn streak.  She probably wouldn’t accept help of this nature without a thorough explanation.

“Hmm, I hadn't considered that.  I'll ask her about it tonight.” Ben hung up, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Me an' Huey are takin' Rob an' Gio over to the safe house now. You an' Gardino have the day shift tomorrow. Meet him at the station at six thirty to relieve us at seven.” Ray outlined quickly, Frannie's keys in hand.

Ben's mind turned over the problem of Meg's safety as he passively listened to his friend's instructions.

“Yo, Fraser, you hear me?” Ray asked loudly.

“Yes, Ray.” Ben repeated the instructions verbatim.

“Alright, see you tomorrow morning.”

Dief growled, taking exception to being excluded.

“Sorry, Dief too!” Ray called over his shoulder. The wolf yipped agreeably.

“ Have a good night, Ray .” Ben called, head poking out of the door into the hall.

“Yeah, yeah, Fraser,” Ray waved as he ushered the Donetta brothers and Huey through the consulate front door.

After Work …

Meg surveyed her afternoon's work; an expertly set dinner table replete with tall, white candles and linen napkins pulled through sterling silver napkin rings. Meg had reheated a casserole Turnbull had brought at lunch and made fudge brownies for dessert.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

“Right on time,” Meg smiled as she peered out the peephole to see Ben and Dief. She smiled even wider when she saw Ben run a hand over his neatly combed hair. Meg unlatched the chain, twisted the deadbolt and unlocked the door before opening the door.

“Ben, come in,”  she stepped to the side to allow him entrance . She didn't know why, but she felt nervous. They'd last seen each other forty-eight hours ago! Nevertheless, he was a sight for sore eyes.

“Meg, hello. How are you?”

She felt him give her a quick appraisal as she closed and relocked the door.

“I'm fine,” she answered with a small wave. “Come on, the casserole is warm. It's chicken, I think.”

Meg led the way to the table. In the living room she heard Ben speaking quietly to the wolf; probably warning him to behave. By the time Meg set the casserole dish on the table Ben waited to pull her chair out for her.

“Thank you, Ben.” Meg said, hoping she wasn't blushing.

“You're welcome.” he answered with a hopeful smile. Meg thought she saw the tips of his ears reddening.

Silence fell between them as Meg dished out the casserole and Ben poured ice water for both of them. Glancing at him surreptitiously she noted how handsome he looked in the dark blue button down and jeans he wore; and he knew how to wear jeans so well. Meg hadn't seen him dressed casually more than a few times until after the coma. He looked different but acted exactly the same.

“Meg,”

She realized she'd been staring, and Ben had caught her.

“I was just thinking,” she explained vaguely. Meg sipped her water, hoping to cool her burning cheeks.

“About what, may I ask?”

He just had to ask, Meg thought. She could fib or choose to admit her thoughts.

“It's just a simple compliment, he must receive them all the time.”

But never from her.

“You look nice tonight. Blue looks good on you.” Meg stated, secretly proud of herself for being forthright with him for a change.

“Oh, thank you kindly, Margaret.”

Meg could have drown in his grateful smile and the loving shine in his blue eyes.

Conversation became easier. Meg and Ben talked about the consulate, Turnbull's antics and Meg's OB-GYN appointment the following week. The latter made her nervous.

After putting a dish of casserole down for Dief, Ben joined Meg on the couch for hot chocolate and fudge brownies.

“I dread going. It's all too familiar.” Meg put her feet up on a leather covered foot stool as she leaned back onto the couch. She couldn't help but see the concern on Ben's face. For once he didn't try to hide it.

“Perhaps I could accompany you. Hopefully the Federal Marshals will have taken the Donetta brothers into protective custody by then.”

Meg turned on Ben. He hadn't said anything about any of this; the Donetta brothers, Federal Marshals or protective custody.

“That's what you've been busy with?” she asked, a dark gleam to her brown eyes.

“Yes. Ray, myself, Huey and Gardino are tasked with their safety until the Marshals take over. They'll be responsible until Rob Donetta testifies against Manetti.” Ben answered honestly.

Meg took a deep breath, trying to remain calm; she'd asked Fraser to bring her attackers to justice after all.

“I thought perhaps Elaine Besbriss might spend a few nights with you while Ray and I await the Marshals.” Ben looked her steadily in the eye as he spoke. Meg saw such concern in his blue eyes; such anticipation of rejection.

The thought of staying alone didn't sit well with Meg, not until Manetti and his men were behind bars.

“The idea doesn't thrill me,” she watched Ben slump a little in defeat, “but I'll go along if you think it best.” His whole face lit up.

“Thank you, Meg. I'll call on Elaine tomorrow morning, make the arrangements.” He let his hot cocoa mug aside to take Meg's hand, lacing her slim fingers with his. Meg's heart melted just a little more.

“I love this. I love him.”

Meg nearly spewed her cocoa, surprised at her thoughts. She began coughing, trying to catch her breath.

Ben took the remnants of their cocoa and fudge brownies to the kitchen. About the time Meg began to wonder about him she heard dishes clattering.

“You don't have to do that, Ben.” she admonished from the doorway. Meg thought to herself that he could do all the dishes he wanted as long as she got to admire the view. Ben's jeans fit so well over long, muscular legs, a tight tush and with his shirt tucked in to advertise it. That dark blue shirt across his broad shoulders didn't hurt the scenery either. What Meg loved though was his rolled up shirt sleeves.

Turning to look over his shoulder, Ben spoke, “It's no trouble; the least I could do after you set such a beautiful table and cooked.”

“Okay, but I'll dry and put away.” Grinning, Meg pulled a fresh tea towel from a drawer.

Half an hour later Meg's kitchen was tidy once more. Dief lay near the door, snoring.

“It's late, I should go,” Ben began hesitantly.

Meg wondered if he hated to leave as much as she hated for him to go. Pondering the question, she almost didn't hear her land line phone ring.

“Ah, Margaret,” Ben said, holding out her cordless handset.

“Ah, yes,” She took the handset and answered, “Hello?”

Meg barely understood the young man on the other end; what with his rapid speech and apologies.

“Turnbull, calm down. Where are you?” Meg looked to Ben, exasperated.

“Alright, Constable, pull it together. Fraser and I will be at the consulate as soon as possible.” Meg hung up before beginning to massage the bridge of her nose.

“Apparently, Constable Turnbull and Moffat have had a spat. He says Moffat is going back to Ottawa tonight.” All Meg could manage was to shake her head.  Of course something like this would happen tonight. Only Constable Turnbull.

“Shall I bring the car around?” Ben asked, reaching for his Stetson. Dief stood and stretched as if sensing the need for the humans to go.

“Yes, thank you. I'll be waiting out front.” Meg sighed.

“I'm not even supposed to be working, much less taking care of Turnbull's messes.”

Meg found a casual jacket, her purse and keys before locking the door and leaving. Ben eased the sedan up to the entrance and threw the passenger door open for her.

“Turnbull is at the consulate.” Meg frowned, checking her wrist watch: 8:45 PM.

“I'll be lucky if I get to bed before midnight.” she thought dryly. “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. I wanted to work again, now I am.”

***

Street lights lit the entrance to the Canadian Consulate. A single light burned inside; in the Inspector's office. Ben pulled Meg's sedan into a roadside spot. Dief pushed his snout between the humans.

“Shall we?” the Mountie asked as he retrieved his Stetson.

“I'll handle it if you'd rather stay here.”

Meg turned to meet Ben's gaze over Dief's head. A smile pulled at her lips.

“Thank you, Ben, but I need to do this. I can do this.”

He nodded, smiling back.

Together, Meg and Ben entered the consulate. Constable Turnbull met them at the door.

“Oh am I glad to see you, Sirs. Inspector Moffat just left a few minutes ago.”

Meg watched the lanky, blond constable wring his hands and pace the width of his desk.

“Calm down, Constable, we'll sort this out.” Meg slipped on her 'Inspector Thatcher' persona as if it were any day before the attack.

“Yes, Inspector.” Turnbull replied, coming to stand at attention, hands at his sides.

“I need Inspector Moffat's cellular number, he may still be at the airport.” Meg made herself at home in her former office. If she was to act as the consulate's mistress, she felt entitled to it's helm.

“Yes, Sir.” Turnbull replied, now back under control. A few minutes later he returned, a yellow Post-It note in hand.

Meg slid out of her jacket and settled in to conduct business.

“Hell, Inspector Moffat, this is Inspector Margaret Thatcher. What's this about you leaving the consulate in Chicago?” She pulled out a legal pad and pen to make notes.

Turnbull and Fraser stood at ease before the desk, waiting quietly. Moffat expounded on Turnbull's ineptitude, his fanaticism about curling and the Queen, his constantly being underfoot, among other things. Next came Fraser, raising Meg's hackles.

Moffat criticized the wolf, Fraser's ridiculous need for perfection and his meddling in Chicago PD business.

“Is this how I sound?” Meg wondered silently. “Never again.” She vowed.

Meg opened her mouth to defend Turnbull and Fraser when Moffat turned on her. He went on about how he'd taken over the most laxly ran consular office he'd ever seen and how he couldn't understand why a commanding officer would suffer such idiots as Fraser and Turnbull and not fire the.

“But then I suppose running an important consulate is better left to men. Women just don't have the head for such matters.”

Meg felt angry enough to breathe fire had she been a true 'Dragon Lady'.

“That will be enough, Inspector Moffat.” Meg interrupted, a  hard edge to her voice. “Constables Turnbull and Fraser both have exemplary service records. Any consulate or post would be honored to have them. Both are loyal, hard working officers the likes of which the whole RCMP could learn from. I'm proud to serve with Fraser and Turnbull. Even the wolf, who has a name, Diefenbaker, is a credit to the Force.

“And you, Inspector Moffat, can drop dead.” Meg hung up abruptly, her dark eyes glittering with excitement.

“Oh, Sir, that was wonderful. Bless you.” Turnbull nearly blubbered, his face crumpled with emotion. He rounded the desk, catching Meg's hand in both of his.

“Bless you, Sir, bless you.” he said, voice trembling.

Meg looked to Ben for help.

“Alright, Turnbull, enough. Let the Inspector rest. It's getting late.” Fraser pressed his hanky into the other man's hand and led him toward the door.

A few minutes later Ben returned, having sent the younger constable home for the night.

“I'm ready to go home.” Meg said, adjusting her purse strap.

Ben drove to Meg's apartment, going so far as to walk her to the door. Dief shot through the door, straight to the kitchen where Ben had fed him casserole.

“You might as well step inside now.” Meg opened the door wider for them both.

“I'll collect Diefenbaker, you should rest.”

Meg bit her bottom lip before meeting Ben's eyes. They are so blue, she thought.

“Stay, please. Stay the night.” She didn't know where that came from, but it was her voice. Ben's eyes widened in shock.

“I have a guest room. It's ready and it's not like anything would happen anyway.” Meg fumbled, cutting Ben's reply off. She lifted her cane while laying her other hand on her baby bump as she spoke.

“Okay.”

Meg marveled at his simple answer and the amused twinkle in Ben's eyes.

“Okay,” she echoed, walking farther into her apartment. Behind her, Ben slipped out of his jacket and Stetson.

“I'll see if the bed  covers are warm enough , I haven't changed it since early spring.” Meg spoke nervously. Sure, she'd had overnight guests, but none as important as Benton Fraser.

“This is fine, Margaret, no need to fuss just for me.” Ben laid a gentle hand on her forearm as she dug through the closet. When she turned she found herself almost nose-to-nose with him.

“It's no trouble, I want to fuss over you.” she replied with a smile.

Meg pulled a scarlet throw from a middle shelf before turning.

But Ben wouldn't move.

“What is it, Ben?”

“May I … may I kiss you?” His gaze flickered to her lips before returning to her eyes.

Surprised, she only nodded yes.

Ben touched her cheek tenderly as he leaned in. Their lips met softly at first, Ben not rushing the moment. Meg felt his other hand ease around her waist, trapping the throw and her hands between their bodies. She deepened the kiss, heady with the newness of it. They'd kissed before, atop the train. This felt different; calmer, and unlikely to be interrupted.

Meg came up for air but Ben pressed soft kisses against her jaw, her cheek, then her temple.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling back to look at her.

“Anytime.” Meg managed, a bit dazed.

When Ben stepped away he took the throw Meg held with him. 

Ben watched Meg walk out the door. He couldn't help but notice the smile pulling at her lips as she closed the door.

_ I kissed her. I kissed Meg _ , he thought, surprised at himself.

The off-duty Mountie sat down on the double bed without noticing the beige walls or navy blue comforter.

She let me kiss her, he marveled. No hesitation, not orders to forget the incident this time. Ben began to unlace his casual hiking boots, lost in thought.

Things will be different, Ben decided. He'd come too close to losing Meg to let go for any reason now. He pondered this new development as he undressed and laid down. Dief nosed his way into the room and laid down at the foot of the bed. Eventually, Ben fell asleep thinking about Meg, listening to Dief snore.

****

Meg let her smile widen into to a broad grin.

He kissed me! He kissed me! He kissed me! She mentally shrieked like a teenage girl. She felt like swooning for the first time in her entire life. The feel of Ben's arms around her waist, the taste of his kiss lingered as she flopped back on her queen size bed. In a giddy haze, Meg settled into bed, hoping for many more kisses.

With Ben by her side, she felt she could do anything; even have this baby. She fell asleep and slept all night long – no nightmares.

***


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have posted sooner, but my computer pitched a fit and wouldn't cooperate.

Chapter 12

Meg smelled coffee, her nose waking before the rest of her. She hadn't had but a few cups since waking in the hospital. Bleary eyed, she climbed out of bed and drifted toward the kitchen.

“Good morning, Margaret.” Ben greeted her cheerfully.

“Uh huh,” she grunted, giving him a lopsided grin.

“Coffee or tea this morning?” the Mountie asked, already dressed.

“Half a cup of coffee, half a cup of milk.” she answered. Fumbling, Meg tightened her robe's sash. She took a seat at the table, wiping sleep from her eyes until Ben set a mug before her. A second later he slid a bowl of oatmeal in front of her, fresh strawberries and sugar sprinkled along the top. Before Meg could speak he set a saucer with whole wheat toast lightly spread with peanut butter between them.

“I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of cooking this morning.” Ben sat down across the table from her, his own oatmeal and coffee in hand.

Meg wasn't much of a breakfast person but how could she say no when he’d gone to the trouble of making it for her?

“Thank you, Ben. It's lovely.” she said, patting his free hand. Their eyes locked for a moment.

“I have to meet Gardino at the station soon.” Ben finally said.

Meg couldn't help but notice a tinge of regret in his voice.

“When will I see you again?” she asked before sipping her milk-diluted coffee. She didn't want him to leave.

“I don't know. I'll call throughout the day though.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Meg enjoyed the companionable quiet; and the oatmeal. Again though, she wondered about domestic life with Ben. Logically, it wouldn't always be this quiet and cozy. There would be sleepless nights with the baby and deadlines from Ottawa soon.

Ben interrupted her thoughts a moment later.

“Being at the consulate will undoubtedly be stressful.”

They both paused for a moment and shared a smile.“Turnbull,” they said in unison.

“He’s really not so bad,” Meg shrugged as she reached for her coffee mug, setting it back down before taking a sip. “Except for when he believes the sky is falling.” 

“Which seems to be every other day and twice on Sundays,” Ben took Meg’s hand in his as he spoke, lacing his fingers with hers. “But at least you won't be alone while I'm away.” 

“It will be kind of nice to get back to work, though Turnbull may feel the wrath of my cane when the hormones hit.” They both laughed. Poor Turnbull made just about everyone he met want to throttle him at some point. He had a good heart and strong sense of duty but little common sense.

“Sentry duty may be his saving grace.” Ben commented.

“Yes, the further away the better.” Meg agreed.

Dief barked, looking out the sliding glass doors toward the east.

“Yes, quite right, time to go.” Ben drained his mug and rinsed out his oatmeal bowl before grabbing his Stetson.

Meg collected his jacket waked him to the front door.

“I'll see you as soon as I can, Meg.” The Mountie studied her chocolate brown eyes a moment before leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Take care.” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“You as well.” With a half-hearted smile Ben left, Dief already out the door.

Meg watched them walk down the hall. At the elevator Ben turned back. They waved until the elevator doors hid both Mountie and wolf.

I am one smitten kitten, Meg thought, sighing dreamily.

***

Meg hummed pleasantly as she dressed for her first day back at the consulate. The excitement of being back at work lasted all the way to the consulate foyer. The moment she laid eyes on Turnbull, Meg's humming stopped.

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher.” the young constable greeted her cheerfully. His arms hung at his side but his fingers tapped nervously against the yellow stripe down his pants' leg.

“Hello, Constable Turnbull.” Meg returned his greeting with a pleasant but fleeting smile.

“My attitude toward Fraser has changed, why not my treatment of Turnbull?” Meg decided. “Be firm but personable.”

Inspector and constable stood looking at each other awkwardly for a long moment.

“Ah, Inspector, may I take your coat?” Turnbull finally offered.

“Yes, thank you.” Meg slipped out of her overcoat with only a little trouble from her cane. As she did Turnbull began chattering about developments over the last few months.

“Has Ottawa called yet this morning?” Meg asked, certain they had.

“Yes, about an hour ago.” Turnbull answered reluctantly.

Grimly, Meg settled behind the desk, once more HER desk.

At twelve thirty, a knock on the door interrupted Meg's train of thought.

“Yes, hello, what?” she snapped.

Turnbull let himself into the office, tray in hand.

“What's this?” Meg asked, making the effort to change her tone. For all he annoyed her, Turnbull didn’t deserve her wrath at this point. 

“Lunch, Sir, per Constable Fraser's orders; a bowl of beef stew, a pimento cheese sandwich and oatmeal cookies.” Turnbull beamed as he set the tray on her desk with a flourish.

“Fraser's orders? When?” Meg felt annoyed that he would go behind her back yet flattered that he cared enough to.

“He left specific instructions last night before you left.”

That scamp, Meg thought.

“Proper nutrition is essential for healing.” Turnbull commented, clearing the desk for the meal.

“Thank you, Constable. I believe it's your lunch break as well.” Meg gave him a pointed look, hoping he'd quit fussing over her and let her get on with eating.

“Yes, so it is.” For once Turnbull took the hint.

Two bites of beef stew later Meg's direct line rang.

“Inspector Thatcher here,” she answered.

“Hello, Margaret, how is lunch?” Ben's warm voice melted her heart.

“Beef stew, my favorite, how did you know?” Meg sat back then began to nibble her sandwich.

“You mentioned it once. I hope you don't mind that I asked Turnbull to bring you your lunch. I thought you might forget.”

Meg shook her head. He knows me so well.

“No, I don't mind. How is witness protection going?” she carelessly brushed crumbs off of her baby bump and lap.

“So far Detective Gardino has lost approximately twelve ounces of Tootsie Rolls to me in Poker. Otherwise it's going fine.”

They talked a few more minutes before saying goodbye.

Meg happily finished her lunch, all but the crusts of her sandwich, but she did eat both oatmeal cookies. Aside from the beef stew, how did Ben know oatmeal cookies were some of her favourites as well? As far as she could recall, she’d never mentioned it.

I could get used to eating for two, she thought, followed by a chuckle.

The rest of the day went smoothly – mostly.

***

Ben ended the call on Gardino's cellular phone, a smile on his face. Dief yawned, telling Ben he thought the human pathetic.

Ben scraped his thumbnail across his eyebrow, annoyed at the wolf's obnoxious attitude.

“I won't deign to comment.” the Mountie muttered.

“Yo, Fraser, you playin'?” Gardino called from outside the bathroom door.

“Yes, Louis. Give me a moment.” Ben stepped out then handed Gardino back his cellular.

Rob Donetta sat sprawled on the couch, channel surfing while his brother Gio read an old magazine. They'd quit playing poker with Gardino and Fraser after Fraser won the first three hands straight. It wasn't much fun playing just for candy anyway.

Gardino shuffled the cards, palming an ace. Fraser let him. Why not let him half a chance at least? The detective began chewing on a pretzel stick as he surreptitiously tried to read Fraser's reaction to his hand. NADA. They played anyway.

Day stretched into evening until Ray and Huey arrived at 6:30 pm with ribs, coleslaw and drinks. Ray even remembered Dief, slipping him a rib before Fraser poured his dog food.

“Hey, Fraser. Anything to report?” Ray asked, seeing the huge bag of Tootsie Rolls beside the Mountie. He smirked to himself, having played poker with the Mountie before.

“No, Ray, complete peace and quiet.” he answered.

“Food, good, I'm goin' stir crazy. No HBO, no booze,” he complained loudly. Rob and Gio both made their way toward the take-out bags.

“You better shut-up and be grateful.” Gio warned, tapping his brother's bandage. They exchanged glares but remained quiet.

All six men, and Dief, sat down to eat before Gardino and Fraser left for the night. Conversation lulled for a few minutes as they all began eating.

***

Outside sat two more of the Twenty-seventh's finest; two former beat cops. Jake sat uncomfortably behind the wheel, his hemorrhoid hurting and burning.

“I'm getting' outta the Force soon as I can,” the beat cop muttered.

“Hey, Jake, I havta go take a whiz, be right back.”

Jake shook his head. His partner, Darren, had taken a whiz break every hour for the last twelve hours. Each time he'd said the exact same thing,  _ “Hey, Jake, I havta go take a whiz, be right back.”  _ Jake had gotten tired of hearing it after the third time. Just once he wished Darren would spice it up; go crap or something.

“I'm done freezin' my keister in the winter, burnin' up summers.” He pulled out two quarters before getting out of the car, intent on finding a pay phone. Seven digits and he'd be able to retire early.

Down the street from his post outside the safe house, Jake slipped into a phone booth, drumming his fingers against the phone booth until he heard the person on the other end of the line pick up.

“What?” The gruff voice answered. “This better be good.”

“Yeah, Arlow, this is Jake. I know where your snitch is hidin' out.” Jake gave Arlow the address with only a twinge of guilt. He’d been a cop for more than twenty years. 

“We'll take care of you, Jake. Thanks.” Arlow's raspy voice crossed the phone line. They hung up a moment later.

Jake walked back to the unmarked car, a queasy feeling in his gut. He hoped being taken care of didn't turn out as ominous as it sounded.

***

Meg paced the foyer, waiting for Ben to arrive. He'd called ten minutes before to say he and Gardino were off-duty.

“Where is he?” she demanded of no one in particular, her voice sounding too loud in her own ears.

“Perhaps Constable Fraser is apprehending a miscreant,” Turnbull suggested hopefully.

Meg turned on her heel to face the seated, younger constable. One brow raised, her dark eyes pinned him like G-force.

“Traffic, Constable. Fraser's stuck in traffic with Detective Gardino.” she bit off an insult, reminding herself of her earlier pledge to be more polite to the young man. All things being equal, he  _ did _ try his best, even if he constantly worried over everything and nothing at the same time.

“Yes, Sir,” Constable Turnbull answered.

Ten minutes of silence passed before Ben and Dief walked through the door. Meg felt herself light up; her heart speed up and a smile pulling across her face.

“Inspector, Constable Turnbull,” Ben greeted them, but his eyes remained locked on Meg.

“Good evening, Sir,” Turnbull replied, standing.

Without warning, Meg turned.

“Constable Turnbull, it's been a long day for both of us. Have a good evening and I'll see you promptly at eight in the morning.” she firmly suggested. “Fraser and I can lock up.”

“Good evening, Inspector,” Turnbull nodded, surprised by his superior officer once again. She usually stayed until eight or nine most evenings.

Meg fidgeted until Turnbull closed the consulate door as he left for the night. Only then did she turn to Ben.

“Detective Gardino drives at a more leisurely pace than Ray.” Ben answered Meg’s unasked question. She watched Ben's Montie Mask slide away just as hers had. As his hand rose to caress her cheek Meg closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

“I've missed you,” she sighed, opening her eyes. Gently, she pulled him down for a kiss, their second in as many days.

“I've missed you too.”

Holding hands, Ben and Meg walked into her office. They shared how their days had gone as Meg cleared her desk for the day. Just as she fastened her briefcase the phone rang. Meg reached for the handset but Ben beat her to it, winking mischievously.

“Fraser, it's Ray,” the detective nearly shouted down the line.

Meg stepped closer to Ben, having heard the urgency in Vecchio's voice through the receiver.

“The safe house has been attacked. Uniforms and EMT's are here, an' Welsh is on his way. I got off a few rounds, hit one of them. Gio Donetta was hit and Rob ran in the confusion. It's all gone to hell, Fraser. You and Thatcher better hide out.”

“Yes, perhaps we should,” Ben agreed, casting a glance at Meg.

One hand over her mouth, Meg clasped Ben's free one. Her thoughts and fears raced. A witness missing. How had Manetti found the safe house? Was Rob Donetta still alive? Would Manetti come for her?

Her breathing sped up as her heart quickened and nausea squeezed her stomach. Meg dug her fingers into Ben's palm, trying to steady herself.

“Meg, here, sit down.” Quickly, Ben guided her to her desk chair before pulling the trash can nearer. He began rubbing her back in soothing circles.

“Don't touch,” she barked, pulling away. Ben's hand felt hot and heavy on her spine. Caught by a sudden wave of nausea, she grabbed the wastebasket. 

After emptying her stomach and sipping water Ben had fetched, Meg felt slightly better. She hastily tied the trash bag and put the wastebasket back on the floor. They could take it out to the dumpster on their way to wherever they were going. Neither Ben’s nor her apartment was safe at this point.

“What is Vecchio doing to find Rob Donetta?” Meg asked, pulling herself together. She pulled a tissue from a nearby box to wipe her eyes and then her mouth.

“He has an APB out and Lieutenant Welsh has contacted the US Marshals Service.” The Mountie shook his head.

Meg guessed from his expression his thoughts paralleled her own. Was Manetti coming for her next?

“We should leave. Manetti …” Ben began, only to be cut off.

“Manetti knows where I live, where you live … the consulate. Where are we supposed to go?” Meg demanded, trying not to sound desperate. She looked deep into Ben's eyes as he laid gentle hands on her shoulders.

“I won't let anyone hurt you. You have my word.”

Meg's anxiety abated, eventually fading away.

“I believe you.” She let a smile raise the corner of her mouth. Her fist unclenched and breathing became easier.

“Good,” he smiled in return, “because you won't like my next suggestion.”

“Uh oh,” Meg thought.

“It's unlikely any of Manetti's men know where Turnbull lives.”

Meg couldn't believe her ears; hide at Turnbull's place!

“I know how it sounds, but ... ”

“But nothing, Fraser,” Meg snapped. She caught herself before completely boiling over.

“It would be unprofessional to embroil Constable Turnbull in my personal problems, especially such a potentially dangerous one.” She hoped she sounded reasonable. Truthfully, she didn't want to spend who knew hot long trapped in close quarters with the bumbling, younger officer.

“Constable Turnbull is a loyal, well- mannered …” Ben paused, running his thumbnail over his eyebrow. “In truth, he's the only person I can think of that Manetti hasn't tracked home.” he finally admitted.

“True,” Meg conceded, arms crossed over her chest. “In that case, if we must, we must.”

“Everything will be alright.” Ben murmured, trying to hide the uncertainty in his voice.

“We don’t know that,” Meg answered as she got up and grabbed her coat and handbag. “But I appreciate you saying so.”

***


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Ben hesitated. Meg hadn't been too thrilled about the idea of staying at Constable Turnbull's place. Really, he couldn't blame her.

Ben helped Meg out of the cab, her briefcase in hand.

Cleaning up after Moffat meant taking work home. The fourth floor room Turnbull rented in an antiquated boarding house loomed as they approached. Ben glanced up at the once glorious, Victorian era mansion. Sadly, years of pollution had left the white brick dingy. Black paint on the trim had chipped, leaving gaps around the windows.

“I'll speak to Turnbull once we’re inside, you wait in the entrance.” Ben gave Meg what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Oh no, Ben. I go where you go.” Meg shook her head, a stubborn tilt to her chin. There was no way she was letting him out of her sight until she’d heard that Rob Donatta had been caught.

“Okay. We'll go together.” He squeezed her hand.

Upon knocking, a trim woman of about seventy answered. She didn't seem to fit into her surroundings. She wore white tennis shoes, jeans and a painters smock over a pale pink t-shirt.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, removing wire frame glasses with one hand and raking her fingers through her silver pixie cut.

“Good evening, Ma'am, I'm Constable Benton Fraser. Would you happen to know if Renfield Turnbull is at home?” Ben removed his Stetson and waited.

The lady eyed Meg from head to toe, stopping at her cane.

“Renfield? Yes he is. Who's this?” the lady nodded toward Meg.

“Meg Thatcher,” she cut Ben off just as his mouth flew open.

“Okay,” the lady eyed Meg suspiciously, raising Ben's defenses.

“I'm Helen Hertz. I own the place. Come in and I'll call Renfield,” Ms. Hertz led them through a marble tiled foyer into a large sitting room.

“We just finished supper, he's probably reading.” Ms. Hertz walked across the room and pulled a tasseled chain behind a window certain.

Noticing both Ben and Meg’s confused expressions, she chuckled once. “Renfield lives in what was once one of the servants' quarters. The bell pulls still work, saves my old knees from climbing the stairs.” she explained, hands in the pockets of her multi-colored smock.

“That’s quite handy,” Ben commented, pulling his gaze away from the antique filled room. Exotic animal heads hung on the wall beside rich, green brocade wallpaper. A worn, oriental rug covered the floor beneath the sofa and matching wing chair.

“How do you know Renfield, Miss Thatcher?” Ms. Hertz asked, crinkling candy wrappers loudly in her pocket. Ben didn't like the cold way she studied Meg. He saw Meg's cheeks color as she hesitated to answer.

After a long pause she spoke, “I'm his superior officer at the consulate. I'm sure he's mentioned me.” Meg sat straighter, her hands folded but fidgeting in her lap.

“Ah, yes, he has.” The older woman’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Renfield has talked about nothing else for months. He thinks a lot of you.”

The woman's now friendly expression surprised both Meg and Ben. A pleased smile crossed Ms. Hertz's narrow face, her eyes crinkling at the outer corners.

“Ms. Hertz, you rang?” Turnbull's voice rang out before anyone could speak. The tall Mountie wore a guileless expression. In truth, at that moment, he reminded Meg of Lurch from _The Addams Family,_ especially after answering a bell with ‘you rang.’

“Inspector, Constable, this is a pleasant surprise. I've never received guests before.”

“Well, I'll leave you all alone. Perhaps I could make coffee, there's still a few slices of carrot cake from supper left.” When everyone nodded yes, Ms. Hertz left.

Meg relaxed, Ben noticed. She'd quit twisting her fingers and leaned back against the sofa.

“Constable,” she began.

“Yes,” Both Ben and Turnbull answered, resulting in a sharp look and pursed lips from the Inspector.

“Turnbull,” she rephrased, “there's been a development in the Manetti Case. Fraser and I were hoping you'd allow us to spend the night. You're the only one Manetti hasn't followed home – we hope.”

“Oh my. Yes, of course, Inspector. I'm honored you trust me with your safety.” he beamed.

Meg looked at Ben, confusion evident in her expression. Ben didn't know how to respond either.

“Excuse me, am I interrupting?” Ms. Hertz said as she entered carrying a large tray. She cast a quick glance at Renfield and his guests, brows raised.

“Ms. Hertz, no, we were just discussing a work mater,” Turnbull answered.

Ms. Hertz's skeptical expression smoothed though Ben saw curiosity in her eyes.

“I thought someone might like a sandwich; homemade chicken salad on wheat.” She set the tray on the coffee table. Meg helped herself to a sandwich, having missed dinner.

“I hope you like chicken salad, Inspector, Renfield here gave me the recipe.” Ms. Hertz gestured toward the beaming Mountie.

“Constable Turnbull is a very good cook.” Meg smiled; forced though it was.

Silence, except for a grandfather clock ticking somewhere settled in the parlor. Ben began tugging on his ear, wondering how to broach the subject of staying with Ms. Hertz.

“Ms. Hertz, Inspector Thatcher is going to spend the night in my room. Do you have a spare cot for Constable Fraser by chance?”

Everyone snapped to attention when Turnbull spoke; his voice appealing. Meg and Ben exchanged curious glances. Neither of them had heard the junior officer speak with such confidence when asking for something.

“Oh, no, that won't do, not for someone in her condition. She'll stay in my room, it has a lavatory en suite.” The older woman gave Meg's shoulder a quick, motherly pat.

“Renfield, you and Constable Fraser can share your room while I stay in the guest room.” She nodded, the matter settled in her mind.

“But, I don't want to inconvenience anyone,” Meg protested, setting aside her sandwich.

“No worries, Inspector. A pregnant, young woman needs to take care of herself.”

The Mounties and Ms. Hertz talked logistics as they drank coffee and ate moist carrot cake with cream cheese icing. By ten PM Meg began yawning. It had been a long and complicated day.

“Alright, time for bed.” Ms. Hertz stood up, drawing both Fraser and Turnbull to their feet like old world gentlemen. Ms. Hertz gave a brief nod before taking Meg upstairs.

***

Ray sat at the desk drinking another cup of coffee, his fifth or sixth – maybe – since finishing at the safe house crime scene. Files lay all around. Rubbing his eye he pulled over another, thick file.

“Ray, it's three AM, go home.” Elaine leaned against the file cabinet, her own doe eyes drooping.

The detective looked up at the police academy hopeful. He wished there were more hopefuls like Elaine; more people like her period.

“Nah, I better finish this.” Ray tapped a file folder with an ink pen.

“Oh no, Vecchio, you stay, I stay,” Elaine protested, “and I'd like to get at least a few hours sleep.”

Ray shook his head, hiding a grin behind his coffee cup. She stood there, chin set as she eyed him.

“Okay, okay, I'm goin'.” Ray found his suit jacket after closing the files.

“Walk you to your car, Elaine?” he offered, stopping beside her desk as she gathered her jacket and purse.

“Thank you, Ray. I see Fraser's finally started to rub off on you.” She smirked, giving him a sidelong look.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ray dismissed, holding the bullpen door open for her. Together they walked to Elaine's small sedan.

“Are you any closer to finding Rob Donetta?” Elaine asked as she slipped her key into the door lock. Fluorescent light from a nearby street light illuminated the whole lot.

“No. He shouldn't have run but I can't blame him; cops can't protect him, Manetti wants him dead and his brother got shot. Family means everything to a guy like Rob Donetta.”

Family Means Everything

The words rang in Ray's brain.

“Elaine, you're beautiful,” he practically shouted as he took her by the upper arms. Quickly, before she could react, he placed kisses on either side of her face.

Ray rushed off to his Buick Riviera, his hunch spurring him on.

“Rob wouldn't leave Gio alone in the hospital,” Ray muttered to himself as he pulled into traffic.

***

Rob wiped sweat from his upper lip. Stealing a set of scrubs from the nurses' locker room had been easy. Posing as a male nurse made him nervous.

“Gio would do it for me.” Rob reminded himself.

Feigning confidence, he strode through the halls, never seeing the pastel walls or Impressionist painting reprints. His eyes scanned the placards displaying patients' names.

Bingo!

Outside the room nearest the nurses' station stood two uniformed officers. Rob hadn't seen them before, thankfully. He hoped they didn't recognize him either. With a casual nod, Rob let himself into the room.

Gio lay on his back, one arm heavily bandaged, the TV remote in the opposite hand. Rob knew the frown on his brother's face well – disappointment. Life in general had been disappointing for both of them but tonight Gio's frown was on he saved for Rob.

“You pampered SOB,” Rob said with a wicked grin.

Gio's head whirled toward his brother.

“Get over here, ass hole. You scared me, disappearing like that.” Gio shut the TV off as Rob walked toward the hospital bed.

“How'd you get away?” Gio demanded, gesturing with his bandaged arm.

Rob grinned. He had always been able to escape trouble, usually leaving Gio to deal with the consequences.

“I ducked out the garage door, ran through the neighbors' rose bushes.” Rob pulled up his scrub leg to show a lattice of red scratches. Gio only shook his head.

“It took you long enough to find me; it's been six hours.” Gio gestured for Rob to sit in a visitor chair. Rob pulled the chair over to Gio's right, partly hiding behind the privacy curtain.

“I'm glad to see you, but you shouldn't have come. Manetti's got guys everywhere.”

It wasn't anything Rob didn't know, but Gio was his only family. Rob laced his fingers across his stomach.

“Had to come,” the younger brother answered. Gio rolled his eyes.

“Well you gotta find someplace to hide, the nurses are in here every five minutes.”

Rob knew that too and didn't care.

As brothers looked at each other the hospital room door flew open. Detective Vecchio, coat tail swinging, strode in, gun in hand.

“No runnin' this time, Donetta.”

Rob froze. How had Vecchio found him?

The Mountie.

Turning, Rob expected to see the red uniform. Instead he saw Vecchio and the uniformed officers that he had seen outside the door.

“Rob Donetta, I got about a dozen things I could run you in on,” With his left hand Vecchio pulled handcuffs from the back of his belt.

“C'mon, you're comin' with me.” Cautiously, the detective holstered his gun before handcuffing Rob.

“I had to get outta there, Detective. Those were Manetti's men; nowhere is safe. If he found me at a safe house he'll find me anywhere. He don't care who he has to kill now. I don't testify he won't go to jail.” Rob tried to make Vecchio understand.

“You do testify and Manetti won't hurt anyone else.” Vecchio countered, tightening the cuffs.

“Unless he kills me first,” Rob muttered, shaking his head. He heard the detective growl as they hustled out.

***

Ms. Hertz led Meg to a room on the second floor, near the back of the house. If Meg had to guess the room was over the kitchen.

“I wish I could spend the night with Ben instead.” Meg thought silently.

Ms. Hertz's room did not fit in with the rest of the house's décor. Ultra-modern stainless steel, glass and austere black filled the room. Meg looked up to see a sly smile on the older woman's face.

“Can't live in a museum all the time,” she shrugged.

“I think I have a nightgown to loan, or would you prefer pajamas?” Ms. Hertz asked, opening her closet door.

“Pajamas, please,” Meg answered.

From a shelf above the hanging clothes Ms. Hertz pulled a pair of cotton PJ's down and handed them to Meg.

“Thank you. I appreciate all the trouble you've gone to.” As Meg spoke she fingered the pale pink satin trim on the cream PJ's.

“It's the least I could do. Renfield speaks so highly of you. He's been such a big help restoring this old house.” She gestured to the house around her.

Meg smiled and nodded.

“Well, make yourself at home; get some rest.” Ms. Hertz gave Meg a reassuring smile before walking to the door.

Meg sank down on the bed, PJ's in one hand, cane in the other.

“Meg,” Ms. Hertz's voice brought her out of her thoughts.

“Yes,”

“Is Constable Fraser the father?” Ms. Hertz looked directly at Meg but her hands moved around in her smock pockets.

Meg blinked a few times, her mouth open.

“Uh, that's rather personal, but, no, he's not.” Meg pulled herself back together. This question would come up in the future she knew. How she wished Fraser _were_ the father.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked, it's just that I saw how he looks at you. He loves you but there's such sadness in his eyes sometimes.” Pink tinged the older lady's pale cheeks as she spoke.

“Ben is a good man, he feels responsible for what happened to me.” Meg's hand strayed from the PJ's to her baby bump.

“He is a good man. I'm sorry if I stepped on your toes. Good night, Inspector. I'll be next door if you need me, I'm a light sleeper.” With a nod the older woman closed the door behind her, leaving Meg alone.

“This day has been so strange.” she thought, rubbing her tired eyes.

****

Upstairs Ben and Turnbull readied for bed. Ben had spent many nights in cramped quarters but Turnbull's room took the cake. The fourth floor room set at the peak of the roof, limiting standing up room. Turnbull's rollaway bed set to the left of door, a short shelf to the right. Opposite the door a hexagonal window let in ambient light from the street.

“It isn't much but …” Turnbull trailed off with a shrug.

“The Inspector and I appreciate your hospitality.” Ben looked the younger officer in the eye. As much as Meg protested coming to Turnbull, Ben knew she felt the same. To Ben, anyone willing to protect Meg was a friend.

Turnbull nodded solemnly.

“It's an honor, Sir.”

Before the moment could become awkward Turnbull turned around and began digging under his bed. A few moments later he brought out a rolled up sleeping bag.

“This isn't up to RCMP standards but it should suffice, Sir.”

“Thank you kindly, Turnbull, it will be just fine.” Ben rolled it out and settled down to sleep shortly thereafter.

***


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to take so long between chapters. TYK for you patience.

Chapter Fourteen   
“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant Welsh. Yes, I'll tell him.”  
Ben heard Meg's quiet voice on the other side of the door. Then he heard her shut off her cellular phone.  
Tap, Tap, Tap,  
“Margaret, Ms. Hertz has breakfast ready,” he said, leaning toward the heavy, antique door. A moment later said door opened.  
“Good morning, Ben, come in.” The lady Mountie waved for him to step inside. He noted her bright eyes and refreshed appearance – a good night's sleep.  
“I just spoke with Lieutenant Welsh. Detective Vecchio found Rob Donetta in his brother's hospital room last night, he's in custody. Lt. Welsh had US Marshals in his office right now.” Her eyes shining, a smile spread across Meg's face.  
Manetti's still out there, Ben thought silently. Outwardly, he let a small smile lift the corner of his mouth.  
“Come on, Mrs. Hertz has breakfast ready,” Ben reminded her, gently caressing Meg's cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.  
Opening her eyes, Meg murmured, “I'll be down in a minute.”   
***   
Meg sat down at a small round table in Ms. Hertz's kitchen. Fraser sat to her right, Turnbull to the left. Both men greeted her cordially then began passing around the food.   
“Here you are, eat up,” Ms, Hertz set a large plate of pancakes and fresh fruit in the center of the table before taking her place at the table opposite Meg.   
“Thank you kindly,” all three of them answered.  
Meg took a moment to look around. The spacious area retained the original fireplace but had been updated to include a clutch of new, black appliances as well as a hanging rack over a huge island in the center. A red, hand pump towered over the sink; a modern faucet installed as well. The house's original brick floor gleamed in the haze of morning light.  
“I should go, I have sentry duty this morning,” Turnbull laid his flatware on his plate after eating.  
“Mmm, yes, I’ll come with you. I have several phone calls to make as well.” Dabbing at her chin, Meg stood up. “Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Hertz. It was delicious.”  
Ben stood as well, upsetting his chair and startling their host. “Margaret,” he began.   
Meg met his gaze, seeing a hint of fear in his eyes.  
“I have a job to do, Ben. I can't...” she took a deep breath, “I won't let him intimidate me, or you for that matter.” She hoped he understood; she had to face her fears or Manetti would win.  
“Alright, Meg,” he nodded.  
Meg knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Ben would hover around her all day; just in case. To her that wasn't a bad thing.  
Turnbull walked to work while Ben and Meg stopped by her apartment for her to change clothes. Diefenbaker lay on the top step of the consulate – waiting. A night carousing left a wolf hungry.   
“Hello, Diefenbaker,” Ben greeted the wolf. Tail wagging, Dief gave a short bark in return. As Ben and Meg let themselves in, the wolf took the opportunity to sniff them. Meg scratched him between the ears before entering the office.  
***   
As the morning wore on, Meg finished her phone calls. From what Ben overheard, Moffat had left quite a few feathers ruffled in the diplomatic community. Ben sensed that Ottawa  was relieved to have Meg back.   
Ben stood outside Meg's door as she hung up the phone. He knocked on the door, hoping  to ask her out to lunch; at the very least get her out of her office to the consulate's kitchen.  
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Meg waved for Ben to come in. Ben stepped in, closing the door behind him.   
“Do you want to address the supply list before or after lunch, Inspector?” Ben held up a yellow legal pad; a page and a half of necessities to order written down.  
Meg stood up to take the pad. She squinted, still denying the fact that she needed her glasses.  
“After lunch, I'm hungry.” She laid the legal pad aside.  
“I'll order. Would you like a sandwich and salad?” Ben picked up the pad, flipping to an empty page, ready to write her order down.  
Meg looked over the desk at him, and lurched forward, alarmed .  
“Margaret?” Concerned, he rounded the desk.  
“Ben, the baby’s moving.” She stepped closer, both hands on her stomach. “Here, feel.” She grabbed his hand and laid it along her side.   
Amazed, Ben felt a grin split his face. The light and wonder in Meg's face lifted him as high as the miracle of life beneath his fingers.   
“Oh my…” he couldn’t finish his sentence. “It's wonderful, Meg, just wonderful,” he breathed.  
“This is the first time I've ever felt it. I was worried.” She felt tears of relief welling.  
“Why worried?” he asked as he ran his hand over her stomach before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The baby’s fine – she’s healthy.” Ben assured her, pulling a tissue from the box on her desk.  
“She? You think it's a girl?” Meg dabbed at her eyes, one hand still on her stomach.  
“Yes. Among the Inuit, midwives often …”   
“Ben,” Meg interrupted, smiling.  
“Hmm?” He saw a fleeting twinkle in her eyes.   
“Hush.” Gently, she touched his face before pressing a kiss to his lips, surprising the Mountie. Ben felt like floating when she pulled away.  
“I know this isn't the place or the time, but will you help me raise the baby?” She began toying with his Sam Browne belt, looking up at him.

Ben looked as though she’d hit him in the head with a hammer. “Pardon?”  
“Like I said, I know this isn’t really the time or the place, but I know I can’t raise the baby alone, and really, no one should raise a child alone…” she began to babble. This wasn’t exactly coming out as gracefully as she’d imagined it, but no matter.

At first Ben stood still, stunned, then a smile split his face.  
“You and I, raise the baby – together?” His heart raced. He had to know exactly what Meg meant. “Are you sure?”  
“Yes, Ben. You've been with me through everything. What you haven't said in words you've proved in actions. I love you.”   
Ben wrapped his arms around Meg, feeling her press closer against him. She’d actually said it out loud.   
“I know it's unexpected and the timing is awful …” she began, pulling back to look at him.  
“I love you; the timing could never be awful.” He caressed her cheek as he looked deeply into her eyes, “Nothing about this situation is perfect, but in the end it’s not about the circumstances, terrible as they are at the moment. It’s how we move forward.”   
“I agree.” She leaned her head against his chest and sighed, content with being able to steal a few quiet moments together.   
“I suppose we should go to lunch, huh?” Meg sighed, still leaning against Ben.  
“It _is_ that time of day.” Chuckling, he squeezed her gently.  
“We do have a lot to talk about.” Reluctantly, she pulled away but slid her hand into his.  
“We should order in; for safety.” Ben had to keep Meg and the baby safe; despite wanting to shout to the world how he loved them. Meg rolled her eyes but agreed. Safety first.   
***


	15. Chapter 15

***   
Chapter Fifteen

Days began to settle down for Meg and Ben with Rob and Gio Donetta in US Marshal's custody. The threat of Manetti's reprisal still hung over them. To ward against that, Ray hung around as much as possible. Ben and Turnbull kept him company. When it came time for Meg to go to the OB/GYN she half expected Vecchio to barge into the exam room with her.

“Oh no, Detective,” Meg put her hand up to stop him, “arctic wolves and Chicago PD not invited.”

The nurse led Meg and Fraser through a door. Meg heard Fraser say, “I'm sorry, Ray.”

Meg shook her head and kept walking.

Dr. Hickey, a petite redhead with bright brown eyes, introduced herself.

“This is Constable Fraser, he's my …” Words failed Meg. What was Ben to her; boyfriend, fiance, something else? Love of my life, set on the tip of her tongue. She looked into his trusting eyes. He deserved to know.

“He's my boyfriend,” she finished, laying her hand on his forearm.

After going through the questionnaire the intake nurse had given Meg, Dr Hickey prepared for an ultrasound. It wasn't Meg's first but her nerves  were getting the best of her just the same. She felt Ben lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

As Dr. Hickey spread gel on her stomach, Meg studied the pastel green wallpaper and colorful balloon trim. She wondered if she should start planning a room for the baby. Maybe she and Ben could make a day of going shopping for the baby.

“Would you like to know the gender, Inspector Thatcher?” Dr. Hickey asked, pulling Meg's attention back to the procedure.  Shopping for the baby and room preparation could wait until later.

“Yes, please.” Meg strained to see the grainy, black and white image on the monitor. The doctor moved the wand until she got a clear view.

“Ah ha. Being shy, are you little one?” Dr. Hickey smiled. “I see you now. It’s a girl. You’re having a girl, Inspector.”

“Is she healthy, Doctor?” Meg blurted. Ben squeezed her shoulder gently. They waited impatiently as Dr. Hickey examined the sonogram carefully.

“She's a bit underweight, but her heartbeat is strong and steady; that's good.” Dr. Hickey's smile didn't bolster Meg's spirit at all.

“I'll give you a set of recommendations and we'll schedule a follow-up visit.” She patted Meg's shoulder.

“As you know, I've had three miscarriages,” Meg started. “Would you say I’m at risk for another?”

“I did see that in your medical history,” Dr. Hickey laid the wand down and set to cleaning up, removing her gloves. “Since they  _ did  _ happen, I won't lie, there is a possibility, however, being in a coma, all that bed rest, eating right and reducing your stress, I don't see anything but a successful birth.” The doctor looked directly into Meg's eyes as she spoke. “Mind you keep doing what you’re doing though.”

_ I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, _ Meg lamented silently.

Eyes dry, Meg barely listened as Dr. Hickey talked about diet and exercise, unable to keep her concentration as Ben finished asking the questions they’d prepared before they’d arrived for the appointment. Apparently satisfied, they left a few minutes later.

***

Ben thanked Dr. Hickey before helping Meg into her jacket. Meg remained silent – eerily silent. He knew her worries about the baby. Meg and the baby's well being concerned him as well.

Once in the waiting room they met Ray and Dief.

“'Bout time, I was getting stares and glares; too many hormones.” Ray shifted his shoulders as he shook his head. “Where to next?” the detective asked, scanning his surroundings as he brought up the rear.

“The consulate, please, Detective.”

Ben closed his mouth at Meg's answer.

“It's after three, Inspector, perhaps you'd like to go home early?” He hoped his diplomatic suggestion would sway her. Dr. Hickey had suggested rest and Ben had decided to help Meg relax; like it or not.

Meg leveled a no-nonsense look up at him. “I'd like to go to the consulate.” Her eyes had darkened, her mouth a severe line above a set jaw.

“As you wish,” Ben nodded, backing off.

After a silent ride in Ray's Riviera, the Canadians disembarked. Turnbull stood sentry; eyes front.  As per any sentry duty shift, he was unable to physically acknowledge their arrival, but there was a small shift in his expression as Meg pushed the heavy front door open.

“Hey, Fraser, got a second?” Though Ray's voice sounded light, Ben saw tension on his face. Ben stepped back to the open, passenger door.

“Yes, Ray?” Stetson in hand, the Mountie leaned down, getting a swipe in the face from Dief's tail.

“What's with Thatcher, didn't the appointment go well?”

“It wasn’t perfect, Ray. The baby is small for this far along. It's worrisome.” Ben had hoped for a better report.

Ray grimaced.

“Let me know if there's anything I can do, Benny. Take care of her.” the detective's tone genuine.

“Thank you, Ray, I will.” Ben nodded.

With a wave they parted, Ray for the station and Ben to the consulate.

Inside, Meg had retreated to her office; with the door closed. Ben stifled a sigh as he and Dief walked slowly by.

“It's understandable she would need some time alone.” Ben said bleakly to the wolf.

Dief let out a conciliatory bark.

“Yes, perhaps she'll feel better tomorrow.”

***

Two weeks later …

Meg stalked into the consulate, leaving Ben and Vecchio to talk. Breakfast had been trying to come back up all day and she had a million things to do. Life didn't stop just because she'd received bad news.

Meg heard the consulate door open and close. Twenty minutes later she heard a tap on her office door. Stowing her glasses, the Inspector answered.

“Yes, Fraser?” Meg took a deep breath.

The Mountie poked his head through the door, his expression neutral. Ben couldn't hide the concern in his eyes though.

“I have errands to run, do you want anything?” he offered.

Meg shook her head no.

“Very well. I'll be back in an hour or so. Dief has decided to stay here.” With a small smile and a wink he closed the door.

Meg couldn't resist smiling. “I love you too,” she murmured. Having broken the Constable/Inspector barrier between them had done wonders for both of them. They felt free to express themselves;  within reason while at work, of course.

Twenty forms and three phone calls later, Meg heard another tap on her door.

“Yes?” Again, Meg stowed her glasses.

Turnbull opened the door, Mrs. Hertz peeking around him.

“I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Hertz would like to see you.” On cue, the older woman held up a large wicker basket full of colorful tins.

Shoulders slumped, Meg beckoned the lady into her office.

“Hello, Inspector. I came to check-in on you; bring a few goodies.” She lifted the basket with both hands.

“How very kind of you,”  she managed a small, appreciative smile.  “Have a seat, Mrs. Hertz.” Meg gestured to the seats across from her desk.

“Oh please call me Helen. Mrs. Hertz was my mother-in-law,” she laughed at the old joke.

“Alright, Helen.” Meg rounded the desk to sit beside her guest.

“Would you like tea?” Meg offered.

“I brought hot chocolate.” She pulled out a high quality, European brand Meg had only seen in Paris during her summer at the Sorbonne.

“I still have a few friends here and there.” Helen smiled smugly and nudged Meg's elbow.

“That's expensive, I couldn't possibly,” the Inspector objected politely.

“Nonsense, Meg, my old friend Alain sends this at least three times a year. I insist.”

How could Meg say no to that?

“Since you insist,” she relented.

“Good, I'll have Renfield make some, he knows just how I like mine.” Helen winked mischievously.

Ten minutes later Meg and Helen sat in the conference room sipping hot chocolate and nibbling on fresh, chocolate chip cookies. Helen adjusted her black blouse, brushing crumbs off the orange, paisley trim. She wore her jeans and white tennis shoes again.

“How is the baby? I see you've finally started to show.”

Meg saw Helen studying her from the corner of Helen's eye.

“She's small for her age but the doctor sounded optimistic.” Meg answered honestly.

“It's like she knew I had an appointment the other day.” she thought, savoring rich, sweet chocolate.

“Turnbull!” Meg growled internally.

Helen reached for a piece of orange creamsicle fudge. “After all you've been through it's a wonder you're both doing so well.”

Meg felt like the old woman was fishing for information.  What did she mean,  _ after all she’d been through?  _ Had Turnbull said anything?

“Helen, do you have a question you'd like to ask?” Meg set her hot chocolate aside.

“That transparent am I? Must be getting rusty.” The older woman blushed.

Meg nodded.

“You and Constable Fraser seem like such a romantic story.”

That raised Meg's eyebrow.

“Don't get me wrong, I read the articles in the Sun-Times about your attack and Renfield has said a few things.” Helen gestured to Meg's cane. “I wanted to know how it's going,  and if you needed anything at all. ” Helen met Meg's gaze almost shyly. For all her nosiness and suspicion, Meg liked the older woman.

“Ben and I are going to raise the baby together. Things between us have progressed nicely.” Meg volunteered.

“Oh,  when you two came to the door I wondered if that might be the case. I'm so happy for you.” Helen beamed, chocolate in one hand, fudge in the other.

“We still have a long way to go.” Meg replied with a still raised eyebrow.

TAP, TAP, TAP

Before Meg could say a word Turnbull barged into the conference room.

“Inspector, there's been an accident, it's Constable Fraser …”

***   


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen 

Whistling as he walked, Ben made his way to the Twenty-seventh Precinct station. When he arrived the usual hustle and bustle greeted him; ringing phones and complaining detainees. Ben strolled up to Ray's desk to see Elaine coming from the opposite direction.

“Elaine, Ray, hello,” he greeted them politely.

“Hey, Fraser.” Ray barely looked up.

“Hello, Fraser. How's the Inspector?” the civilian aide asked, stopping beside Ray. She swept her long, dark hair over her shoulder.

“She's doing well, thank you for asking.” Ben responded as he hung his Stetson up.

“Still won't take it easy I bet.” Ray commented, frowning as he searched through a file folder.

“No, unfortunately, she still insists on working a full, forty hour week.”

“Stubborn woman,” Ray shook his head.

“Ray!” Elaine smacked the detective's arm smartly.

“What! She is. I didn't say it was a bad thing,” the detective defended himself, rolling his office chair against the wall, out of reach.

Elaine gave Ray a glare and a disgusted huff before walking off.

“Sheesh, women,” Ray grumbled.

“What time is our appointment with Ms St. Laurent?” he continued as he pulled on his suit jacket.

“Louise'll say I'm late even if I turned up early. If that ain't bad enough I havta drive Frannie's car.” Ray held up a tangle of car keys hanging from a pink, fuzzy die.

“Ah, I see.” The last time they'd borrowed Francesca's car it had reeked of her hairspray and perfume. Make-up paraphernalia lay everywhere.

“Yeah, c'mon, the sooner we get this over with the better it’ll be for all of us .” Ray led the way out of the station.

Patrol cars moved to and fro around the station's parking lot. Ray scanned the area to the right while Ben perused the right. Across the street sat a rusting, red, Ford Bronco. Through the four wheel drive's cracked windshield,  Ben  noticed the driver: a man in his forties wearing a designer sport coat. Ben wondered at the incongruity between truck and driver.

“ Fraser! Did you step in wet cement? Hurry up!”  Ray yelled for the whole world to hear.

“On my way.” Ben turned to go.

Ray fussed as he adjusted the driver's seat to his longer legs before moving the mirrors. Ben ignored his friend, moving aside a pink and purple plastic case that reminded him of a tackle box. The scent of make-up and perfume wafted up from the hefty case.

“Don't break Frannie's box of war paint, she's got a fortune invested in that thing.” Ray shook his head.

“Duly noted.” The Mountie carefully set the case on the backseat.

Still complaining, Ray set off for St. Laurent's office. Traffic inched along, it's pace set by red light cycles.

“You and Thatcher doin' okay?”

Ben turned from looking out the window, surprised at Ray's interest.

“Meg and I are doing well, thank you for asking, Ray.”

Perhaps they can finally begin to get along, the Mountie hoped silently.

“Frannie and Ma want to throw a baby shower. I told 'em to hold off but you know how Frannie is.”

Ben listened as his friend related the proposed details. After the baby name book incident Ben wondered how Meg would react to a shower.

“I'll ask Meg how she feels about a shower tonight at dinner.”

A fast approaching vehicle in the lane beside them caught Ben's attention in the side mirror. Horns honked loudly as the vehicle cut others off. Instinctively, Ben tensed, his tongue half a second from shouting.

“What the  hell?”  Before Ray could curse the large, dark vehicle impacted with the rear of Frannie's sedan, spinning it to the right. Inertia and the powerful Ford sent the Cougar and it's contents to the left. Ben saw a panoramic view of the buildings beside them as the car turned more than one hundred degrees. Ray's shouted curse melded with the sound of screeching tires and crumpling metal. A second impact threw Ben's body against the window glass. Before the world went dark he saw Meg's face.

***

“Thank you, Helen, I know he'll appreciate that.”

             Wait a minute, I know that voice.  Ben lost the remainder of that thought. Oblivion absorbed him once more.

“He'll be alright in a few days, Inspector,” a male voice rumbled, the harsh sound pulling Ben from his void.

“I hope so,” the familiar voice answered anxiously. A heavy weariness in that voice pulled Ben out of darkness.

His hearing  restored , more senses surfaced. He felt a scratchy texture against his skin and the strident scent of cleaning solutions surrounded him. Another aroma, a comforting one, drew near.

“Oh Ben.”

Gradually, Ben opened his eyes. A moment later Meg's face came into clear focus. Fear vanished from her features, replaced by relief.

“Ben, you scared me.” she began, touching his face as she spoke.

“Turnbull burst into my office saying there had been an accident.” Tears coursed down her cheeks.

“I thought the worst. I thought you'd been killed.” Meg swallowed hard, her tears running freely.

Pain stole Ben's breath when he tried to lift his right arm. He had to touch her. He had to chase Meg's tears away. Instead, he used his left arm to catch her hand. Still crying, Meg perched beside him on the bed, his hand between hers pressed against her cheek.

“Meg.” Ben heard what sounded like his own voice.

“You. Scared. Me.” A sharp, insistent finger stabbed him in the chest as Meg switched gears from grateful to angry. “I didn't know where you were or who you were with.”

Ben couldn't help but grunt in pain at her assault.

“Where's Ray? Is he alright?” He struggled to sit but pain laid him back down.

“He's fine. He's in a room down the hall.” Meg used the remote attached to the bed to raise the back. Ben settled back in relief.

“What about the other driver?” Ben asked, adjusting the sling holding his right arm.

“He's in police custody; he's one of Manetti's top men, a lieutenant.” Amusement shone in Meg's eyes. This victory built their case against Manetti, putting him one step closer to jail time.

Knock, knock,

Ben turned to see Lieutenant Welsh standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Constable, Inspector,” he said as he nodded. “Good to see you.”

Ben squirmed, wishing he were able to stand. Though  he’d done so many times before,  he felt very vulnerable wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

“I came to see Vecchio, thought I'd drop by.” Welsh strolled in, hands in his jacket pockets.

“Thank you kindly, Lieutenant,”

“With Arlow in custody the DA thinks there's enough to present to a grand jury. Manetti is circling the drain.” Welsh informed, looking from Ben to Meg.

Before Ben could, Meg spoke.  “If that’s the case, then we can all get back to living our lives.”

Ben slipped his hand around hers, wishing he could further ease her worries. The lines around her dark eyes betrayed how she felt, the thoughts she kept to herself. Meg caught Ben's eye; giving him a quick wink.

“The sooner the better,” Welsh agreed, his tone thoughtful. If it wasn't Manetti it would be someone just like him to fill the power vacuum. Welsh had seen it time and again.

“Lieutenant, how is Ray?” Ben asked, pulling the older officer out of his dark thoughts.

“Ah, Vecchio's fine; bruised and sore. He'll be off work a week or so.” Welsh shook his head in annoyance. “ Let him annoy someone else for a while and give me break,” he made an attempt at humour, giving them both what might have been a reassuring smirk in any other circumstance. “Anyway, I’ll let you know if anything changes,  Constable, Inspector,” he bid them farewell with a nod.

Ben’s attending physician arrived a few minutes later . Ben looked to Meg for help only to receive a head shake no.

***  

Across town a phone rang. On the second shrill a meaty hand grabbed the hand set.

“Yeah, what?” demanded a tight, deep voice.

“Arlow's in jail, he didn't get them,” an emotionless, male voice answered.

“Damn!” the first man swore viscously. “Alright, go  pay his bail , whatever it is, I'll take care of it.” After hanging up, the first man pounded his fist against the desk, jarring the name placard etched with Devin Hughes.

“I've done everything but do the job myself. Twenty years I've been boss an' I've never had to clean up Manetti's shit.” Hughes spoke only to the darkness surrounding his desk. Settling into the desk chair, he pulled out the bottom drawer. His long, broad fingers fished in the back until he latched onto a silver hip flask. The expensive alcohol burned from lips to navel on the way down. Still, it took the edge off his nerves. Hughes replaced the flask after one pull. Then he picked up the phone and dialed a number he'd memorized.

“Yeah, Manetti, have lunch with me tomorrow. We  have business to discuss .” He didn't let the other man protest, just gave him a time and an address for the next day.

“If you want something done right, do it yourself.” An old cliché but apt to Hughes. He'd left the matter to others long enough.

***

Two weeks later …

Frannie rolled her eyes as Ray walked up and down rows of used cars.

“Ray, this is the third place we've been today. My feet hurt and I'm hungry. Let's go,” she grumbled, her block heels clomping as she followed her brother.

“Me and Ma tried to get you to wear flats so don't complain. Besides, this is the last one so hold your horses.”

Frannie nearly ran over Ray when he stopped abruptly in front of a champagne colored Buick Regal sedan.

“Not a Riv but it looks good.” He adjusted the bandage on his left temple as he peered through the driver's side window.

“The seat's in good condition, so low mileage,” the detective rattled off a mental checklist as he walked all the way around the personal luxury car.

Frannie again trailed behind Ray as he headed he headed toward the small, cement block building housing the lot's office. A few minutes later he returned with the salesman and a set of keys.

“Get in, Frannie, we're taking a drive.” Ray pointed to the backseat.

“I don't want a Buick, that's your thing.” she wailed, opening the rear door.

Ray turned on her, his green eyes flashing.

“If you want me to pay half of what the insurance  company won’t, you'll buy a Buick. Your last car was a lemon.”

He had her by the purse strings judging from her silence and the hateful glare directed his way.

Ray put the four year old car through its paces, testing high speed response, alignment and brakes. Sullenly, Frannie let Ray  negotiate with the salesman about price. By the end the salesman agreed to pay taxes, tags and registration; essentially putting it on the road.

A few signatures, some paperwork, a trip to the DMV and Frannie drove off in her 1991 Buick Regal.

“Now you've got a REAL car,” Ray teased as he rode shotgun on the way home.

“Shut up, Ray, or I'll drive your car into the lake,” she threatened. That set off a bickering session lasting all the way home.

****

One month after the crash … 

Ben sat with his back against the headboard, Meg sitting between his legs with her back to his chest. His hands lay loosely on her very swollen stomach.

“How did the shower go?” he asked before pressing a kiss to her shoulder. He reveled in her unique scent so close.

“It went fine. Francesca kept it simple, just her, Ms. Vecchio, Elaine, and Helen. The men at the station pooled their money and gave us a gift certificate for baby supplies. I appreciate that Frannie didn’t go all out. From what Ms. Vecchio said and what I’ve seen it isn’t in her nature.” she answered, rubbing her stomach.

Ben listened as Meg listed all the gifts the ladies had given her and the food everyone had brought.

“I know you aren't big on desserts  and sweets  but I saved you a piece of Helen's orange fudge, it's in the refrigerator.” Absently she tapped on his knee as she spoke.

“Thank you, I'll have to try it,” Ben murmured.

They sat in companionable silence for a long while. Eventually, Meg sighed heavily.

“Something on your mind?” Ben asked, voice low as he massaged her shoulders.

“What am I going to do, Ben? Part of me can't wait to meet my baby but the other part is terrified. Listening to Helen and Ms. Vecchio talk about raising their children I realized, what do I know about raising kids? I'm going to screw this child up.” she sighed again, shaking her head.

Ben leaned forward, kissing her cheek as he twined his fingers with hers.

“You aren't alone in this, Meg. You’ve got me too. We can do this together.” He squeezed her hand briefly.

“You’ve said you'll help me, and I love you for it, but it's not your child.  I can't ask you to do more than what you’ve already done. ” she protested.

“We’ve discussed this,” he repeated patiently. “I'm offering, Margaret. I love you and I love your child; it will be my child.” Ben assured her.

“What if you want children of your own; biological ones? I don't know if I can handle another pregnancy. This one is a miracle.” She turned to the side to see his face in the golden glow of the bedside lamp. “I don't want you to leave us; to leave me.”

Ben moved closer, putting his arms around Meg as tears slid from her eyes. 

“Blood and biology does not determine who your family is.” He assured her, thinking of his own childhood spent with his grandparents and a father who rarely saw him from one end of the year to the next. “I'll have you and the baby, that's more than enough for me.” he persisted. He felt her relax then lean against his shoulder.

“I hate pregnancy hormones, they make me too emotional...”

“Too honest?” Ben supplied. Meg's elbow connected playfully with his gut a second later. Hearing her laugh eased any discomfort though.

“Hold me and bite your tongue, Constable.” Meg purred before meeting his lips for a passionate kiss.

Her mind at ease, Meg fell asleep in Ben's arms.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Hughes adjusted his red, silk tie and smoothed it down his black shirt. A waiter, Hector, carried in the house special; baby lamb chops with steamed vegetables and a Bordeaux wine.

“Thank you, Hector.” Hughes nodded to the solemn man at his left. Hector nodded before turning to leave.

“Mr. Hughes, your guest has arrived.” In came a short, well dressed man in a well tailored, pinstripe suit.

“Thank you, Francis. Close the door, please.” Hughes gave him a meaningful look.

Hughes turned from Francis to the man now seated across from him. He glanced over the man, Manetti, taking in his wavy, salt and pepper hair, obsidian eyes and swarthy features.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Manetti,” Hughes greeted greeted casually as he cut the tender lamb into small bites.

“Care for a glass of wine?” Hughes gestured toward an open bottle between them on the table.

“Thank you,” Manetti answered with a tight smile. His square hands deftly poured a glass.

“As I said last night, we need to discuss your position in the organization. Lately, you’ve gotten sloppy,” Hughes slid a piece of lamb into his mouth as he watched the other man’s reaction. He’d played the game long enough to see Manetti’s well veiled fear. His dark eyes narrowed and he seemed to stiffen in his chair.

“Oh, how so?” Manetti relaxed, sitting back to sip his wine.

“Arlow and the Canadians. The Mountie was supposed to drop the investigation, instead he’s found a witness to testify and Arlow is in jail.” Manetti shifted in his seat.

“Three strikes, Manetti, you’re out.” Before the counterfeiter could protest Hughes pulled a handgun from beneath the table, a suppressor mounted on the end. He fired easily, arm extended across the table toward Manetti. The wine glass Manetti held fell, sloshing the contents across the tablecloth as the mobster jerked backward. A single rivulet of blood coursed down Manetti’s forehead. His dark eyes wide, he slumped in his chair, jaw slack.

“Francis,” Hughes called. 

The sound of accordion doors on a metal track announced the restaurant owner’s entrance. 

“Yes, Mr. Hughes?” Francis only gritted his teeth at the sight of a dead body.

“Call my guys,  tell them I need a clean up crew in here .” Hughes ordered casually, as if he simply wanted more bread sticks.

“Yes,  sir .” Francis turned neatly on his heel and headed back to the kitchen. Manetti returned to his lamb and vegetables.

*** 

“Ray! Phone call!” Elaine called across the bull pen.

The detective waved that he’d understood before picking up his extension. He smoothed his tie as he sat down.

Good to be off my loafers, he thought.

“Vecchio here,” Ray answered, his green eyes wandering the bullpen.

“Detective, Sergeant Buckland here, we found two bodies. Coroner hasn’t said yet but I think it’s Arlow and Manetti. I was on that call about the lady RCMP inspector, been following the case an’ thought you should know.”

Ray listened to the sergeant’s voice. This wasn’t a call the officer wanted to advertise. Though uniformed officers and detectives served together, they didn’t always associate.

“Thanks Buckland, I appreciate that,” Ray answered sincerely. 

“No woman oughta be done like that, those guys got what they deserved,” the sergeant added.

“Damn straight,” Ray agreed. 

A moment after hanging up with Buckland, Ray called the consulate. By the time he picked up Fraser they’d have the bodies at the morgue. He decided to let Fraser choose between the morgue and the crime scene. 

***   

Ben stood outside the consulate, Dief at his side. Ray hadn’t seen such a grim look on the Mountie’s face since Thatcher woke up. Even the wolf appeared subdued. 

“Thank you, Ray,” The Mountie and wolf got into the Riv. 

“No problem, Fraser,” the detective hesitated before his next question. 

“The morgue or the crime scene?” Ray heard his friend sigh heavily before answering.

“The crime scene, please.” 

From the corner of his eye the detective saw his friend massage the bridge of his nose between his brows.

“Not much justice in a dead scumbag, huh, Fraser?” Ray commented as he navigated frantic, Chicago traffic.

“Not the kind of justice I had hoped for, no,” Fraser answered sadly.

“You told Thatcher yet?” Ray couldn’t contain his curiosity. 

“Yes,” the Mountie started. From the backseat Ray heard Dief groan. 

She must have taken it badly, Ray thought to himself. He knew if it had been Frannie or Maria in Thatcher’s place they would have wanted blood.

The remainder of the ride slipped by in silence; each lost in thought.

***     

Carrion birds circled the scene along with crime scene tape. Detective Huey and his partner, Gardino, stood inside the taped off area as a crime scene photographer snapped pictures. Outside the scene a portly man leaned unsteadily against a piece of Caterpillar brand equipment talking to two uniformed officers.

“Diefenbaker,” Fraser’s voice rang out across the landfill. The wolf trotted back to the Mountie from a sniff investigation. 

“Vecchio, what are you doing here?” Gardino demanded, stepping past Huey to meet the other detective.

“This is a crime scene, Gardino, an’ I’m a cop, you put two and two together.” Ray answered with a sneer.  Lacking a comeback, Gardino snorted and put his head down into his notebook.

“What do you want, Vecchio?” Huey asked, barely more civil than his partner. 

“ Word going around is that this is Manetti and one of his men, came to see for myself.” From the corner of his eye Ray saw Fraser squatted down by the bodies.

C’mon, Vecchio, keep Jack talkin’ so Fraser can do his thing, he told himself. Besides, distracting Jack meant he didn’t have to watch the Mountie lick or sniff anything. Gardino took it upon himself to mind Huey’s business with Vecchio. Fraser had the bodies to himself, save for the forensics photographer. That guy couldn’t see beyond his viewfinder.

“Ray...” 

Vecchio knew that tone. Fraser knew something but thought it best to talk about it our of earshot of the Duck Boys. Ray sneered over his shoulder again as he and Fraser left the trash heap. Dief waited for them by the Riv, his nose to the ground as his plume of a tail bobbed back and forth. 

“It’s Manetti and Arlow Crusoe. Both were shot elsewhere and discarded at the landfill, probably in hopes of delaying detection.” Fraser informed after they’d settled into the Riv.

“Do we want to know who killed them, send a thank you card maybe?” the detective tried,  instantly regretting it after seeing Fraser’s hang-dog expression. 

“I doubt such a gesture would be well received, Ray.” Fraser ran his tongue over his lower lip as he stared straight ahead.

“Yeah, probably,” Ray muttered to himself.

****   

Meg paced her office, arms crossed over her baby belly and a scowl on her face. 

“Would you care for some tea, Inspector, or a snack perhaps?” Turnbull kept pace with her shorter stride easily. Meg stopped abruptly, causing the lanky Mountie to stop on his tiptoes. Seeing his reaction, she sighed. 

“No, thank you, Turnbull, I’ll be alright as soon as Fraser gets back.” Everything had settled again after the car crashed. It seemed that every time she caught her breath Meg’s life turned upside down again.

“Yes, Inspector. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything. Don’t hesitate, Sir,” with a nod and a flash of a smile the junior officer left Meg to stew once more.

A few paces later the consulate’s phone rang; Meg’s direct line. 

“Fraser?” she answered, voice tight.

“It’s Manetti and Arlow Crusoe, Meg. They were shot and dumped at the landfill. Both bodies are at the morgue right now, as are Ray and myself.” 

Meg heard a familiar yip from Dief. The wolf insisted on being included in things.

“And Diefenbaker,” Ben added. 

She sighed, bringing her fingertips in her forehead, hoping to halt the migraine she felt starting. “Could this be considered as a step forward?” Meg asked, now running her fingers through her hair.

“I wish it were so; for your sake.” Ben’s soft answer soothed her somewhat.

“I love you, Ben,” she almost whispered.

“I love you, too. Ray will drop us off at the consulate as soon as we’ve finished at the morgue. I’ll see you soon.” From the background Meg heard, “awww... “ and kissy noises.

“Tell Vecchio to  shut up ,” she growled. Ben repeated her sentence verbatim and received a laugh in response. Meg shook her head at the detective’s antics. She tolerated him for Ben’s sake, just as she’d made peace with the wolf.

“Be careful,” the Inspector cautioned. Meg and Ben hung  up a moment later.

“Think I’ll have that snack now.” Meg muttered aloud to her otherwise empty office.

“Turnbull, are there any of Helen’s apple turnovers left?’ she asked, her tone softening as she remembered her resolution to be nicer to her personnel. 

“Yes, Sir, shall I get some for you?’ the junior officer jumped to his feet, ready to serve. 

Meg waved him down and set off toward the kitchen for herself. Jangled nerves starting to settle, the lady officer set about making tea and warming up homemade apple turnovers. Little pastry pockets of gooey apple goodness fried in butter and smelling of cinnamon. So rich but  _ so good. _ Feeling generous, she made Turnbull a plate as well.

Two plates and cups in hand, Meg walked back to her office. She stopped off at Turnbull’s desk first. Surreptitiously, she slid the second plate to his left. 

“Have you called that high school Social Studies teacher back about their Culture Week program?” Meg asked, all business. She noticed Turnbull trying, and failing, to suppress a grin.

“Yes, Inspector, I’m scheduled to speak on Friday,” he answered, schooling his features. Inspector and Constable conferred about a few more matters before Meg took her tea and turnover to her office. Just as her door closed she heard, “Thank you, sir.” Over her shoulder she nodded, closing the door firmly.

***   

“Good afternoon, Constable Turnbull.” Fraser’s voice brought Meg out of her paperwork induced haze. She quickly stowed her glasses and checked to see if there were turnover crumbs on her chin or her blouse.

TAP, TAP, TAP interrupted Meg’s grooming. 

“Come in,” she called. 

Ben stepped inside, sans wolf. His blue eyes smiled for her in a way Meg had never seen aimed at her until meeting the handsome Mountie. Not even Jon, her ex-husband had looked at her with such love. 

“What did the  Medical Examiner have to say?” She had to know, had to get the bad news over with. Someone bold enough, or powerful enough, to kill Manetti could mean an increased threat level.

“Manetti was shot point blank, close range. Arlow Crusoe was shot in the back of the head, execution style, as Ray would say.” Ben answered soberly, still standing on the other side of the desk. 

“Any suspects so far?” Meg leaned back in her chair to look up at Ben, worry barely concealed.

“No, Ray is at the station looking into leads as we speak but he isn’t hopeful.” 

“I don’t know if someone did us a favor or not.” Meg shook her head. 

Before silence could drag on Meg’s phone buzzed.

“Yes,” she answered, voice  neutral.

“A delivery for you, Inspector.” Turnbull sounded uneasy, more so than usual.

“Fraser and I  will be right there .” She hung up as she struggled to stand. 

“I’ll go.” Ben moved to block her path, his eyes begging her to concede. 

“Alright,” she replied.

Again, Meg paced until Ben returned. His frown concerned her.

“What is it?” she demanded, joining him halfway across the office. 

“It’s quite puzzling.” Ben answered, holding up a small, white card in a gloved hand.

_ Manetti was a peace offering. Truce _ crossed the rectangle in blocky handwriting

Meg squinted, examining the card stock.

“I called Ray, he's sending over a forensics team to examine the card and flowers. I also took the liberty of detaining the delivery man until he arrives,” Ben reported.

Meg noticed his eyes following her though he stood perfectly still. She met his gaze, trying to discern his thoughts. She'd learned to read him better since the coma; and he'd allowed himself to be more expressive, but occasionally he slipped behind the Mountie Mask once more. 

“What are you thinking, Ben?” she asked, drawing closer to speak low.

“Perhaps we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth,” he answered, digging his thumbnail across his left brow.

Meg blinked.  “Wait a minute. Did I hear you correctly? You’d allow a murderer to go free?” She wouldn't have believed it had she not heard it with her own ears. It seemed utterly out of character.

Then Meg saw the pain and concern in his eyes. _For you I would._

“Okay, I'll let it go – for now. I have the baby to consider,” she relented.

“ **_We_ ** have the baby to consider,” Ben reminded her gently.

“Yes,  _ we _ ,” she agreed. Still, Manetti and Arlow Crusoe's murder bothered her. She felt somehow responsible. Part of her knew that they had chosen the life they led  and with choices came consequences – sometimes deadly ones.

Meg made a mental note to speak to Vecchio.

****

On the pretense of having lunch with Helen Hertz, Meg left the consulate. She winked at Ben as he stood sentry. He couldn't move to respond, but she saw his lips quirk just an infinitesimal fraction. The cab she'd called arrived on time. Meg felt Ben's gaze follow her to the end of the street where traffic dispersed in different directions. She hated deceiving him but had questions only Vecchio could answer.

Even with the bumper-to-bumper traffic Meg arrived at the cafe before Vecchio. The waiter seated her at a table along the wall, out of the walkway. Meg nibbled on bread sticks and sipped tea until she saw the detective walking toward the table.

“Okay, you got me down here,” his long coat flared out behind him as he came closer. “What do you want that we have to meet like secret agents? Something wrong with Fraser? The baby?” Vecchio demanded, in the process of sitting down.

“Well, that sounds like an absolute  _ stellar _ start to this afternoon. Hello to you too, Detective,” Meg retorted dryly. She had grown accustomed to Vecchio's uncouth manners but she still didn't like them. He gave her a sour sneer in return.

“I asked you to lunch because I have questions.” Meg set aside her attitude. Antagonizing Vecchio wouldn't accomplish anything; no matter how enjoyable.

“I'm listenin'.” The detective leaned back in his chair.

“Why would Fraser allow a case to go unsolved?” They looked at each other for a moment.

“You  hafta  be more specific.” Vecchio plucked a bread stick from the basket between them and took a bite.

Damn! Meg had hoped to avoid specifics.  She’d also hoped that just once, Vecchio would put aside the fact that both of them were detail-oriented people that hated to let anything involving Benton Fraser drop . She debated on how much to divulge. 

Ben trusts him, I should too, she grumbled to herself.

“Fraser doesn't want to solve the Manetti murder,” Meg stated simply.

Vecchio shrugged, tossing his half eaten bread stick back into the basket.  “C'mon, Inspector, this is Fraser we're talkin' about here; Truth, Justice and the North American Way.” 

“He said, and I quote, 'Maybe we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth'.” Meg pinned Vecchio with her most sincere expression.

“Ah hell,” Vecchio swore softly. He squared his hands into fists. To emphasize his point he said, “Fraser loves you, he's not gonna let anything or anyone stop him from keepin' you safe, not even you. He says to leave it alone then I agree. Manetti was a Great White Shark in an ocean of sharks and someone took him out. Benny doesn't scare  easy but you’ve gotta know he's scared for you. My advice is to let it drop and let God sort it out.”

Meg stared at the table for a minute, letting Vecchio's words sink in.

“Look, Inspector, I was gonna tell Fraser first but you need to know, we rounded up a bunch of Manetti's gang last night, we arrested the guys who, uh, who assaulted you,” he gestured to her canes. “Let the rest sort itself out.”

Meg met Vecchio's eyes. The danger had passed but it wasn't over after all, she thought.

“Thank you, Detective Vecchio. I appreciate your advice.” She sat back, her mind turning his words over and over. Did she really want to poke the hornets’ nest? Manetti had ordered her assault and now he lay dead in the morgue.

“Are you okay?” Vecchio asked casually though his gaze focused on her.

“I'll be fine,” she answered softly.

“Let's eat, you're buyin',” Vecchio picked up the menu with a wolfish grin and began scanning his options. Meg rolled her eyes.

****


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

As the pregnancy progressed Meg's fatigue grew. By the beginning of the eighth month she knew it was time to take maternity leave. Court proceedings against Derrick Tolson, her other attackers and forty hour weeks had worn her down to the nub.

“Meg, wake up.” From far away she heard Ben's gentle voice.

“Wake up, let's get you to bed.”

Finally, she roused to see a very concerned Ben and a puzzled Diefenbaker.

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled, allowing Ben to guide her to the bedroom. His warm hands on her shoulders felt reassuring.

“What time is it?” Meg asked, wiping grit from her eyes. “Last thing I remember was Lester Holt on the evening news.”

“It's seven thirty, you nodded off just after the headlines.”

Meg heard a hint of amusement in Ben's voice.

“Tomorrow I think I'll start the paperwork for maternity leave.” Meg hated to admit she couldn't hold out to do her job anymore.

“I'll help however I can; just rest tonight.” Ben flipped on the bedside lamp then turned down the bed for them. Meg climbed in on the left; the side closest to the bathroom. She settled into the mattress, her whole being weary.

“Ben, you coming to bed now?” Meg asked, lifting her head from the pillow.

“Soon. I have to let Dief out.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. A few minutes later Meg felt Ben get into bed and snuggle in close.

***

The Next Day …

Meg frowned as she drank her orange juice, helping the prenatal vitamins slide down easier.

My kingdom for a cup of coffee, she thought silently.

“Carrot sticks or celery with lunch?” Ben stood at the kitchen counter, two thermal lunch coolers open.

“How about donuts?” Meg replied sarcastically. She hadn't expected Ben to be such a strict dietitian; going so far as to plan their every meal for a week at a time. However, when she thought about it, she couldn’t really complain about that aspect. His careful attentions had helped stimulate the baby's growth, so Meg went along. Anything for the baby.

“In a few weeks.” He gave her a smile as he closed the lunch bags.

“Come along, Diefenbaker.” Ben held the door open for Meg and the wolf. She waited for him to lock the door; a new habit for the Mountie. Meg admired him as he fiddled with the knob and deadbolt. From his dark hair, a hint of duck tails behind his ears, to his broad shoulders, trim waist and legs he cut a handsome figure. Part of her couldn't believe her good fortune. She got to call the Mountie hers.

“Shall we?” He asked, offering her his arm. The pink tinge to his ears told Meg he'd caught her staring.

“Okay,” Meg slipped her arm through his, laying his hands on his red serge.

In the car, Meg's mind turned to consulate matters, thoughts racing and blurring into each other.

Who will take over while I'm gone? Will they reassign me? What about Benton?

If they reassign me, will he transfer?

Meg's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles whitening. She'd never considered any of that while married to Jon. None of her pregnancies had lasted that long and she hadn't attained that much rank.

“Meg,” Ben's sharp voice brought her out of her thoughts. “You passed the consulate,”

Growling to herself, she drove around the block and back to the consulate.

“Are you …” Before Ben could finish Meg cut him off.

“Dammit, they won't do it, not to me.” She shoved the car into park roughly. Ben's schooled features didn't penetrate her angry haze.

“Ottawa is NOT going to separate us. I've given too much, been through too much to give an inch now. I deserve to keep my position and you.”

The more she thought about it, the quicker her blood boiled, her thoughts now entirely focused on the injustice of her entire time spent in Chicago.

“I cleaned up after Moffat – twice. We kept them from paying Buxley ten million dollars, stopped a nuclear disaster and averted a NAFTA fiasco. We even kept a federal judge from being blown up when the FBI couldn't!”

She turned to Ben. The corners of his mouth quaked and those blue eyes danced in amusement.

“What!” Meg demanded. Neither of them had unbuckled and the car was still running.

“That’s the most passionate I’ve ever seen you,” Ben spoke quietly before leaning forward and kissing her.

Hormones are good for something after all, Meg mused silently.

A few moments later Ben and Meg pulled apart, both with silly grins on their faces. Ben twined his fingers with hers as they stared at one another.

“No matter what happens, where you go, I go.” Meg squeezed Ben’s fingers, her voice calm. “I want to raise this baby with you, to grow old together.” 

“Is this a proposal?”

Meg's eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

“Yes, I guess so. I hadn't thought of it like that.” An astonished laugh welled up. “Let's do it. Let’s get married.”

It was Ben’s turn to laugh. “When?” Gears began turning in his mind; his tongue toying with an eye tooth.

“As soon as Ottawa approves my maternity leave. We can have a small ceremony, just a few friends. That's all I want.”

“Then that's what you'll have,” Ben promised.

Neither said anything for a moment, letting the proposal sink in. It felt like a fairy tale.

“Turnbull is probably waiting, wringing his hands.” Meg finally broke the silence before turning the car off.

“We should tell him we're engaged.” Ben suggested.

“Alright,” Meg agreed. “He'll want to plan the ceremony,” she added. “That, or he’ll start running around the office looking for his stockpile of bridal magazines.”

“That would make his day,” Ben chuckled, joining Meg on the sidewalk. “Turnbull has a collection of bridal magazines?”

“I saw him put them away in the bottom drawer of his desk after lunch one day when he thought I wasn’t looking. He looked rather absorbed in his reading.” She felt his hand on the small of her back, one of the many small touches she relished. Now they'd have a lifetime of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter but my readers deserve it for waiting on Chapter Seventeen for so long.


	19. Chapter 19

 Two weeks after applying Ottawa approved Meg's maternity leave. Turnbull spent those weeks planning Ben and Meg's wedding with Frannie, Ms. Vecchio and Helen Hertz.

Meg looked up from her computer screen after hearing a familiar knock.

“Come in,” she answered, hiding her glasses. They clinked against the bottom of the drawer just as Turnbull rushed into the room.

“Good news, Inspector, we were able to book the Juliet Hall for the reception. Now all we need is your approval on the guest list.” The younger officer handed her a typed list of names; two columns running down the sheet. Meg stood up, her mouth a grim line as she read the proposed guest list.  

“Turnbull, this is my wedding, not a consular event. I don't even _like_ most of these people much less want them at the reception.” She grabbed an ink pen and began crossing people's names off. Meg gave him back a list of twenty approved guests.

“And cancel the hall, it's too big,” she added before returning to her desk. Turnbull took his leave, reduced guest list in hand.

“He must think I'm made of money,” Meg grumbled, fishing for her glasses.

TAP TAP, interrupted her search.

“What is it, Turnbull!” Meg called, letting her cranky free to roam.

“Hello, Meg,” Ben greeted her, stepping through the doorway. Dief trotted in beside him.

“How are you feeling today?” Ben gave her a head-to-toe once over as he held his Stetson.

“I'll be glad when the wedding is over and the baby is born. Turnbull wanted to reserve the Juliet Hall. The Juliet Hall! And he gave me a guest list right out of the consulate's Rolodex.” Meg squirmed in her chair, watching Ben round her desk and perch on the corner, facing her.

“I'll have a word with him. How are my girls?”

Meg let Ben take her hand, holding it between both of his. It took a moment for her to realize his fingers were massaging her palm. She made herself relax and enjoy the therapeutic touch.

“You always know what to do,” Meg whispered, her mouth spreading into a smile.

“I wouldn't say always.” He shrugged it off. Meg let him, knowing better.

“Today is my last day. This coming weekend is the ceremony and then you and I will have a week's honeymoon all to ourselves.” That made Meg's smile broaden. A week alone with Ben.

Too bad our honeymoon wasn't pre-baby, I'd make love to him seven days straight, Meg thought silently.

Ben pulled Meg's hand to his mouth, planting a kiss to her palm. His eyes lingered on hers, his blue eyes glittering. She began to blush, wondering if Ben could read her mind.

“Let me know if you need anything.” With a quick peck to the cheek, Ben stood up to leave.

“See you for lunch?” Meg finally remembered to ask as he opened the office dor.

“Yes, promptly at noon.” Ben winked at her before closing the door.

“That man,” Meg sighed dreamily.

*****   

The Wedding

Meg stood at the top of the marble and wrought iron staircase holding her bouquet as she peered out over the ballroom. All eyes faced the foot of the stairs where the pastor and groom stood waiting. Opposite them stood Mrs Hertz – Helen, she had to remind herself. Helen and Turnbull, with the help of Frannie and Mrs. Vecchio, had above and beyond to make this wedding ceremony happen. They'd hung scarlet and navy bunting along the banister, tied back the sheer cream- colored curtains with scarlet ribbon and somehow wrangled eighty matching chairs and twenty tables for the guests. Each table had been covered with white table cloths. Overhead four crystal chandeliers separated the weak sunlight, casting rainbows against the white walls and freshly plastered and painted ceiling.

Mendelssohn's “Wedding March” began, a steady rhythm along with Meg's heartbeat. She took a deep breath before stepping down. The baby jumped just as Meg's heel left the marble.

“Calm down little girl,” she muttered to the baby, now only a few days from its due date.

Meg self-consciously smoothed her ivory colored satin dress with its lacy shell. She hadn't even bothered trying to disguise her baby bump. Everyone invited already knew she was pregnant; and if they didn’t, they’d either been living under a rock or were in for a big surprise. Feeling charitable, she took the latter.

At the foot of the stairs Meg handed Helen her bouquet before slipping both hands into Ben's. Helen smiled brightly, sharp eyes gleaming.

“You got your man,” Helen whispered, making Meg chuckle.

“Mounties always do,” she said, joking along.

Turning to Ben, Meg squeezed his hands. She saw him blink away the mist in his eyes and swallow hard. Beside him Turnbull ran a knuckle over one eye, making Ray stifle a laugh.

The pastor's words washed over Meg. She'd vowed to love, honor and cherish Ben ages ago. Ben's eyes showed her that he felt the same.

“You may now kiss the bride,” brought Meg back to reality. All the guests clapped and camera flashes exploded as their lips met.

“Everyone welcome Mister and Mrs. Fraser,” the pastor announced over the din.

When the noise died down Ben escorted Meg to a table festooned with bunting. Waiters flooded from the kitchen's double doors discreetly placed in a corner beneath the staircase. Frannie slipped in behind Turnbull, capturing his arm while Helen did the same to Lieutenant Welsh, who beamed from ear-to-ear. Elaine claimed Ray as well, everyone taking a seat at the twelve foot long table reserved for the wedding party.

Meg looked around her at all the people who had come together because of Ben; because he loved her.

“Speech! Speech!” someone yelled.

Ray stood up, champagne flute in hand. He smoothed the navy and red tie he wore with a white shirt and gray suit.

“I've known Fraser a while now. We've been through thick and thin; crazy stuff,” Ray shook his head. “There's no one I'd rather have my back.” He clapped Ben on the back, looking both he and Meg in the eye. “I've never seen him as happy as he is with Margaret, and I wish them only the best with all my heart. Salute.” With that he lifted his glass. Everyone joined him in saluting Meg and Ben, bringing tears to Meg's eyes.

“Are you alright?” Ben asked, leaning over to speak in her ear. She squeezed his hand.

“I'm fine. That was very sweet.” She wiped tears from her eyes. A moment later Ben pressed a kiss to her temple.

After that the party began. Turnbull supervised with the waiters rolled out a three tier wedding cake with two Mountie figurines and a horse sitting on top. The taller of the two wore a Stetson; the other a visor cap.

“I hope you like it, Inspector. Detective Vecchio and I agreed that the red serge figure was a better representation of you.” Turnbull informed her.

“It's wonderful, Constable Turnbull, thank you so much.” And she meant every word.

A familiar tune pulled Meg's attention away from her blushing officer.

“May I have this dance, Meg?” Ben offered her his hand.

“I'd love to.” She let him lead her out onto the dance floor. Despite the baby, they slow danced, other couples around them swaying to _Could I Have This Dance_ by Anne Murray.  

“Is this everything you wanted, my love?” Ben spoke near her ear, his breath tickling her skin.

“Everything and more,” Meg said, laying her head on his shoulder. They shuffled around the ballroom until the song ended. A loud screech brought all the guests' attention to Helen, who stood near Ray's brother-in-law, Tony, the volunteer DJ.

“Hello, everyone,” Helen greeted brightly, possible due to the third glass of champagne she held. “Renfield and I have been talking about wedding traditions these last few days. He told me about something called the Wedding Wheel. Ren told a lovely story about his mum and dad's wedding.” She paused to sip her glass. “Everyone pull out your money, give the bride a little something when you dance with her. For the baby.” Helen raised her glass before fumbling to replace the microphone.

Meg groaned. She knew all about the Wedding Wheel tradition. Dancing with a bunch of clumsy cops did NOT sound like fun.

“I'll make our apologies,” Ben began.

“No, no, it's okay. Helen meant well. I'd hate to disappoint her.” She patted his chest and gave a reassuring smile.

“If you're certain.” Ben's brow creased.

“I'll be fine, promise.” Meg winked.

“Ah hem,”

Meg turned to see Ray Vecchio holding an American twenty, grinning like a cartoon villain.

“Margaret, care to dance?”

“Ray,” Ben warned but Meg waved him off. She yanked the twenty out of Ray's hand and then had Ben take off her right shoe, a low profile ballet flat.

“Shall we?” Meg asked, laying the twenty along the length of the shoe. Holding the ballet shoe the two began to waltz. Soon others, even the women, took Meg for a twirl around the floor. They all deposited a few dollars into the shoe. By the end of the party, money filled Meg's shoe to the top and she'd danced with everyone but Ray's brother-in-law.

“Could I have this dance?” Ben held up a Canadian loonie and a smile.

“Dances for you are free – always.” Meg grinned up at him, pushing the coin into his tunic pocket. She slipped her arms around Ben's shoulders, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him over the baby belly.

“Are you ready for our honeymoon?” Ben mumbled against Meg's lips, his arms loosely around her.

“Yes, very ready.” She ran her fingers through the soft hair at the back of his head as they stood on the dance floor. Ben took her by the hand, leading them toward the exit. Outside stood a white carriage replete with white horses and a footman.

“Have a good time.” Helen and most of the other guests had followed them to the front of the house. The older woman held Meg's bouquet and a hanky.

“Thank you, Helen, for everything; the long talks and taking time to answer my questions. It really helped.” Meg pulled her into a hug, tears in her eyes. Helen had been the friend and mother-figure she'd needed.

“Anytime, dear. Remember me when you need a babysitter.” Helen patted Meg's cheek.

“Throw the bouquet!” Frannie shouted. Beside her Elaine shook her head, as did Ray and the other Vecchios.

Meg tossed the small bundle of flowers in Frannie's direction. The eager young woman snatched it out of midair like a pro baseball player. Everyone began blowing bubbles at the happy couple as Ben helped Meg into the carriage.

“Thank you, Ben. This is perfect.” Meg leaned against him, her heart swelling with love.

“As are you, Margaret Fraser.” As if in a fairy tale, they kissed as tin cans clattered behind the carriage.

****

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satisfactory I hope.


	20. Chapter 20

“Meg,” Ben spoke softly to his new bride as she lay sleeping in their bed. I hate to wake her, she's so beautiful, he thought. He smiled as she softly snored. She'd never admit she snores, Ben mused.

Dief wandered into the bedroom, only pausing to launch himself onto the empty half of the bed.

“Diefenbaker!” Ben scolded the half wolf.

“What the …” Meg growled as she woke up nose to nose with the grinning animal. She tried to roll away but failed. Glaring, Meg shouted, “Fraser!”

Ben shooed the half wolf off the bed and helped Meg sit up on the side of the bed. She gave him a hard look, her mouth a thin line as she rubbed the baby belly.

“What's the matter with that animal? I couldn't get to sleep until four AM, it's now, “ she paused, turning toward the alarm clock, “seven.”

My apologies my love, I'll let you go back to sleep.” As he spoke, Ben had squatted down to her level.

“It's too late now, I have to pee.”

Ben helped her stand. He watched her take a few waddling steps before stopping.

“Uh oh.” She turned toward Ben, her eyes wide. He knew instantly what had happened.

“Oh dear.” A million things ran through Ben's mind; breathing, contractions, traffic, Ray and more.

“I'm not ready, Ben.”

Ben scrambled, his Mountie brain not yet kicked in.

“I'll call an ambulance.” He rushed to the bedside table and grabbed the cordless phone. His thumb poised over the keypad but his brain lay as blank as a tundra.

“Nine. One. One,” Meg ground out through a locked jaw. “Never mind, call Vecchio, he'll be faster.” She went back to studying her wrist watch as Ben dialed. The detective answered on the third ring.

“Yo, go for Vecchio.”

“Ray, the baby, Meg,” he sputtered.

“Calm down, Fraser, I'm on my way.” The line went dead in Ben's hand.

“Ben,” Meg grabbed his Henley sleeve, stopping him. “Look at me.”

Ben held the phone to his ear but gave Meg his full attention.

“Ben, promise me, if anything happens to me you won't let Chester Goodall have her. Not that sick bastard and not his family. Promise me. I don’t care if the rape kit did identify him as my attacker. ”

Ben felt her nails dig into his arm just above the wrist. Looking into her eyes he saw her fear; losing the baby, losing him, death.

“I promise, Meg.” He cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The next several minutes were spent timing contractions, breathing and waiting for Ray. Meg held Ben's hand in an iron grip. He breathed a sigh of relief when they heard a siren followed by Ray's Riv barreling toward them, red light flashing. Back up had arrived.

“What's going on?” Ray had the door open before he'd shoved the car up into park.

“My water broke. Drive.” Meg pulled Ben along as she waddled toward the car. Dief warily laid down on the sidewalk, having been banned from the trip.

“Ah hell no. I just got this thing detailed, call an ambulance.” Ray fumed.

“No. Now drive,” Meg ordered, glaring at him over the car.

“Lady, if you weren't pregnant, I'd …” Ray snarled.

“Don't let that stop you.” Meg shouted back as she rounded the rear of the car. Ben joined her two seconds before Meg let out an almost inhuman sound, a moan mixed with a growl. She cradled her stomach and leaned against the Riv’s passenger side door. Dief, on the other side of the vehicle, howled.

“Ray, help me get her in the car, please.” Ben took one side while Ray supported Meg's other arm.

“Sheesh, all you had to do was ask,” Ray grumbled.

Ben slid into the back seat a moment before Ray helped Meg into the passenger seat. Together, they practiced the breathing techniques learned in lamaze classes, Ben leaning forward to whisper in his wife’s ear. Too distracted with Meg, Ben never noticed the half dozen traffic violations his friend racked up at every intersection. Horns honking, drivers shouting and hand gesturing all rolled off the Riv as they barreled toward the hospital.

Once at the ER entrance Ray hustled inside, his jacket flapping around him. Two nurses returned with him moments later.

“Now was that so hard, Detective?” Meg snarled as the nurses held a wheelchair and Ben helped her ease into it.

“You deserve a kid just like you.” Ray shook his head in disgust.

“Thank you, Detective. I hope the same for you one day,” came Meg's sharp retort.

Ben ran a thumb over his brow. He hesitated to interrupt, knowing Meg needed a distraction. Ben hoped Ray understood why. After all, there would be time to sort out hurt feelings and apologies later.

Shoving all other thoughts aside, Ben concentrated on Meg. He and Ray followed her wheelchair and the nurses into the ER. Triage went quickly, and Meg was soon checked into a semi- private room and the privacy curtain pulled around the bed. Once there, Ray stopped short of coming in with Ben, instead making his excuses that they should have a bit of time alone together before becoming a family of three.

“I'll go let Ma and Mrs. Hertz know. The guys at the station have a betting pool going; weight, length, time of birth, that kind of thing.” He shrugged and gave Ben a slick grin.

“What? Ray, that's illegal!” Ben found he couldn't hide the mixture of dismay and quiet glee on his face. Such things weren’t uncommon when it came to babies, but he still couldn’t shake the decades-long belief he held of never betting on anything.

“What’s the Commissioner going to do, Benny, arrest the entire station? He’s got twenty bucks on it, too.” Ray chuckled before leaving.

Before Ben could chastise Ray a nurse interrupted.

“Constable Fraser, your wife is asking for you.” She slid the curtain back just enough to allow him inside.

“There you are.” Meg reached out for his hand. He noticed a sheen of perspiration on her forehead and her upper lip. Her smaller hand gripped his fiercely. Together, they progressed through the breathing exercises.

“We haven't really had a discussion about a name. Do you have any picked out?” Ben began, trying to distract her. Gently, he smoothed her hair away from her face.

“A few.” Meg's brow creased and her breathing sped up; another contraction. Afterward they picked up where they'd left off.

“I've considered a few but haven't chosen one.” Meg frowned, prompting Ben to wonder why she'd hesitated.

“Picking out a name felt like a jinx,” she admitted as her body relaxed. “Like if I got too attached to her and picked out a name before now, we might not be able to bring her home.”

“No need to worry now,” he smiled. “Tell me about them.”

Ben listened to her list of baby girls' names; ten in all. They were thoughtfully chosen, all of them solid names. He'd always wondered how and why people choose their children's names. What did they take into consideration? Was it tradition? Wanting to honour another family member? Or just a name both parents liked that flowed well with their last name? Now that he thought about it, he’d never actually asked his father where the name Benton had come from, and Dief's name had been a tongue-in-cheek decision.

“What was you mother's name?” Meg asked.

“Caroline, her name was Caroline,” he answered softly. It had been ages since anyone had even mentioned his parents. Mourning coursed through him. Ben missed them every day but lately, more than usual. Not being able to share either his wedding or the baby with them was a constant ache in his heart.

“We could name the baby Caroline, after your mother.”

Ben smiled. He appreciated her suggestion.

“Thank you, but she needs her own name.” He turned away, pretending to study a diagram of an ear. 

It was Meg's turn to soothe Ben. She cupped his cheek, feeling stubble along his jaw.

“I love you.”

Ben closed his eyes, enjoying her gentle, loving touch and those precious words.

“I love you, too,” he murmured.

*****

Between contractions and the maternity nurses' exams Ben stayed close to Meg. Ray had volunteered to look after Dief, taking him out for walks around the hospital ground and then back to the house. Ben promised to call when it looked like the baby was well and truly on its way.

“We haven't chosen a name yet.” Meg set aside her cup of ice chips. She'd been crunching them in agitation. “I need a pen and paper, we need to list our options.” Hours of waiting had tried her patience, so it didn't surprise Ben when she snapped her fingers for his attention.

“I'll be right back.” Ben returned a few minutes later with a steno pad and pen. Meg began listing her choices: Alice, Agatha, Ainsley, Beatrice, Carina … Meg caught his skeptical expression.

“For middle names,” she explained.

Ben nodded.

“Which one do you like?” She handed the pad to him. Ben read through the lengthy list, wondering if there was a correct answer as he ran his thumb over his eyebrow.

“Ben, be honest.” Meg wagged a finger at him; eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

“I think Alicia Helen sounds good,” he answered truthfully. “It plays on the name Alice but at the same time adds a bit of modernity.”

“And Helen for Mrs. Hertz?”

Ben nodded again. “She’s been very good to us.”

“Alicia Helen Fraser it is then.” Meg beamed.

Before they could continue talking another contraction hit. The maternity nurse took a quick look, gave Meg a tight smile and left. A moment later Dr. Hickey walked in.

“Okay, let's have a look see.” She pulled on a pair of exam gloves and lifted the sheet over Meg's legs.

Ben watched Dr. Hickey as he held Meg's hand.

“Looks like you've entered the final stage. It shouldn't be more than two hours until baby makes an appearance. You're dilating rather quickly for a first labour.” The young doctor grinned broadly.

“Is everything okay? How's my baby doing?” Meg's voice took on a panicked edge.

“Don't worry, Mrs. Fraser, everything is normal. Lay back and rest, the real work will come soon enough. I'll be back soon to check on you.”

Meg turned to Ben. “Promise me you won't let Chester Goodall or his family anywhere near the baby,” she implored again.

Ben took her hand in both of his. “You have my solemn work, my love.” He kissed her hand.

****

Ben left only long enough to call Ray. The detective, off duty in the predawn hours, answered on the fifth ring.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Pardon the hour, Ray, but the doctor anticipates the baby will make an appearance in about two hours time.” Before Ben could continue Ray began shouting so loudly he had to hold the phone away from his ear.

“Ma! Wake up! Frannie, Maria! The baby's comin'.”

Ben heard heavy footfalls on the stairs leading to the foyer. Diefenbaker joined the chaos, howling somewhere in the house.

“Ray, will you call Helen Hertz for me? Meg asked that she be told.” He hated waking anyone at three AM, but Meg had been adamant.

“Yeah, sure, anything, Benny,” They talked a moment before Ben said good-bye.

Meg waited impatiently, wringing th bed sheets beneath her. Sweat dampened her face and hospital gown.

“There you are. Did you call Helen?” She clasped Ben's hand, squeezing a bit.

“Ray said he would call her.”

“Okay good,” she blew out a hard breath and forced her hands and shoulders to relax for a moment. “It's been a long day, hasn't it?” Arms shaking, Meg tightened the ponytail she'd pulled her hair into hours earlier.

“Yes, but I wouldn't be anywhere else for the world.” Ben winked at her playfully.

The next hour blurred by for Ben. He coached Meg through breathing and pushing, encouraging her every step of the way. Tears coursed down Meg's cheeks as baby Alicia Helen Fraser was weighed, swaddled, and laid against her chest. Ben wiped a few stray drops from his eyes as well.

“She's perfect, Ben, absolutely perfect.” Meg almost sobbed.

Ben counted each tiny finger and toe. Her wild shock of dark hair felt silky beneath his hesitant touch. When he stroked her cheek Alicia blinked and raised a minuscule fist. Ben and Meg both laughed.

“She's going to keep us on our toes.” Meg murmured.

Ben chuckled. Just like her mother, he thought.

“I think Ray and family are out in the waiting room,” he whispered as Meg cradled their daughter. “Would you like me to go let them know she’s here?”

Meg smiled. “Sure. Then we’ll see them for visiting hours in a little bit.”

Ben kissed her quickly and did as he said he would. A few seconds later, Meg was almost certain she could hear the Vecchio’s family collective cheer from down the hall.  

*****

Visiting Hours ….

“Hello, Meg, Benton. Detective Vecchio told me your room number.” Helen set a gift bag in the visitor's chair, along with a burgundy poncho and black beret cap.

“Oh, thank you, Helen. You didn't have to do that.” Meg gestured toward the bag.

“It was my pleasure. May I?” she asked, motioning toward the baby.

Meg shot Ben a pained look. He knew she felt reluctant to let anyone hold Alicia, even Ben. He let Meg make the decision. Slowly, Meg handed Alicia to the older woman who'd perched herself at the foot of the bed.

“She's precious.” Helen beamed, looking at the sleeping infant. “And my goodness, does she ever look like her mommy.” She ran her index finger lightly along the baby’s cheek. “Have you chosen a name yet?” she asked, looking up.

“Yes, Alicia Helen Fraser.” Meg bit her bottom lip as she watched Helen's reaction.

“You named her after me?”

“Partially. You’ve done so much for us,” Meg reasoned. “This seemed like the best way to thank you.”

Helen forced her mouth closed. “I don't know what to say. I'm honored.” She handed the baby to Ben before giving Meg a careful hug.

“You've been a mother figure when I needed one most.” Meg wiped a stray tear. Ben watched the two women in silence; emotion clogging his throat. Seeing Meg open up to another person swelled his heart with love and pride. She'd finally learned to trust someone.

Helen kept her visit short, leaving just as Ray and Mrs. Vecchio walked in.

“Benny, Meg, congrats!” Ray handed Ben a pink, bubble gum cigar and a set a large box on the visitor's chair beside Helen's gift.

“Thank you kindly, Ray.” Ben shook the detective's hand before slipping the candy cigar in his breast pocket.

Across the small room Ma Vecchio cooed and fussed over the baby; Italian interspersed with English. Ben caught Meg's eye and he smiled. It felt like a picture perfect moment. He had a good friend beside him and the woman he loved felt the same for him.

“Raymundo, come, we should go, Meg is tired.” Mrs. Vecchio beckoned her son.

“Gotta go, Fraser. I’m Ma’s ride home.” He smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Let me know when they're released, Ma has lasagna and a couple casseroles waiting.”

“That's very thoughtful. Will you thank her for us?” 

Ray said he would then followed his mother out.

Ben sat down on the bed beside Meg and Alicia in her bassinet. Meg's eyelids drooped, dark smudges beneath them. She seemed somehow smaller than before pregnancy.

“If you'd like to rest I'll belay any visitors.” Meg brightened at hearing his offer.

“That sounds nice. I've never been so tired.” She gave him a lopsided grin. Meg fell asleep almost as soon as she lay back to rest. Ben stood watch over his precious girls.

****


	21. Chapter 21

****

Chapter Twenty-two  
Sunday....  
“It's Sunday already. Monday is coming too soon,” Meg groaned inwardly as she threw off the blanket and slid out of bed. She eased toward the baby's room on bare feet.  
“Wish I could sleep that peacefully.” Three month old Alicia lay on her back, arms spread. Thoughts of Meg's long physical rehab, therapists' sessions and all the flack she'd put up with from Ottawa and Moffatt swirled through her thoughts. She'd come far in the last year. Even still, that wasn't what kept her awake.  
“I don't want to face that SOB. There's nothing to fear but I can't stand the thoughts.” Her wounds ached as she let her mind drift back. Everything had been normal that day  – peaceful. She'd been walking when pain exploded through her head a second before absolute darkness overwhelmed her.   
Three months later she'd woken up in a hospital bed, in an immense amount of pain and pregnant. Thankfully, Ben had been there – her knight in red serge. Now she had a beautiful, healthy daughter and a devoted husband. Meg just wanted to move on with her life.   
“Pretending it never happened isn't healthy. I have to deal with this,” she told herself, the dark a welcome cover. “I have to, for Ben and Alicia,” she repeated.   
“Meg?” Ben's sleep rough voice interrupted her dark thoughts.  
“I'm okay, just couldn't sleep.” She ran her hands up and down her arms as she turned from Alicia's crib to face him.  
“Because of tomorrow?” Ben pulled her into his arms, his cheek against the top of her head.   
Meg hesitated to answer. She'd already leaned on him so much. The Inspector in her wanted to stand alone, but on the other hand, this had been part of their vows, to stand together for better or worse.  
“Margaret,” Ben urged, giving her an encouraging squeeze.  
“Yes, it's about tomorrow.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.  
“What can I do to help? Tea perhaps?” he offered, leaning back to study her.  
“Thank you, but no tea. Hold me a while?” Meg leaned into him, arms around his torso.  
“Any time.” Arm-in-arm, Ben and Meg headed into the bedroom. Ben sat propped up against the headboard while Meg lay her head against his chest.   
“What's on you mind, my love?” Ben stroked her back, his arms around her post-baby figure. She'd lost all but a few, stubborn pounds of her baby weight thanks to months of physical therapy and Ben’s careful meal planning.  
“Getting on with my life is on my mind. I'll testify in open court. And in doing so, I'll have to relive the worst day of my life.” She let out a heavy sigh.  
“I'm with you every step of the way.” He traced a circle on her back.  
“For which I'm grateful every single day.” Meg turned her head and looked her husband in the eyes. “I love you.” she smiled, her mood lightened.   
“And I love you,” he said before kissing her forehead.  
As they lounged in bed, enjoying an all too rare, quiet Sunday morning, Meg and Ben talked about first one thing and then another until Alicia's cries interrupted.  
“Feeding time,” Meg sighed as she pulled away from Ben.  
Both heard Diefenbaker's toe nails clicking on the kitchen's tile floor.  
“So it is,” Ben agreed, opting to get out of bed to feed the wolf before he began barking.   
****     
Monday....  
Court Day ….   
Meg sat in the third row back from the front, alternately smoothing her charcoal gray pants suit and wringing Ben's handkerchief. She'd dreaded this day for months. Just the thought of facing her attacker set her heart to racing.   
Illogical fears.   
People talked among themselves as they waited for the judge and jury to arrive. The white noise filled her ears, gnawing at her nerves.  
“What's taking so long?” Meg demanded of no one in particular.  
Ben slipped his larger hand around her fisted one without a word. She felt herself relax; just a tiny bit. No one could hurt her with Ben at her side.  
“Hear ye, hear ye, all rise for Judge Thorpe,” the bailiff called out in a dull, baritone voice. Conversations ceased, replaced by the rustling of feet and chairs. The judge entered from the left while jurors filed in the right.   
Meg wondered if everyone felt as uneasy as she did. She didn't hear much of the court formalities. Judge Thorpe, a balding, stern faced man of about sixty, settled himself behind the bench, the bailiff to his left.   
Meg watched - riveted- as Goodall walked into the courtroom. He shuffled along in leg and wrist shackles attached around his waist. He looked down at his feet, shoulders hunched and his dark hair shorn. Bile rose in Meg's stomach. She clenched her jaw to tamp it down. Ben's hand came to lay on her knee. The warmth and weight of it comforted her.  
“I don't know if I can do this,” Meg whispered. Though he didn't move she knew Ben had heard her; a gentle squeeze reassuring her.   
Time and words ticked by. Eventually, Meg was called to the stand and sworn in. Then the questions began. She sat there white knuckled beside the judge. She focused on breathing as Dominic Roberts, an average looking man in an off the rack suit, approached the witness stand. Meg pegged him as a rookie prosecution attorney.   
“Inspector Thatcher,”  
Meg pursed her lips, one dark brow arched.  
“Ah, Inspector Fraser, please tell us, in your own words, what happened the day you were attacked.”  
She closed her eyes, her fingers twisted in Ben's hanky.  
“I left the consulate at approximately 12:30 PM for lunch. I walked down the block toward the deli, Cadi's. Just after I passed an alley about halfway along the block I felt hands grab me from behind, dragging me backward. I struggled, trying to defend myself but before I could, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head and then I lost consciousness .”  
Meg released a shuddering breath. Looking down she realized she'd almost cut the circulation off in her fingers by twisting Ben's hanky around them.  
“Inspector Fraser, can you tell us what happened next, to the best of your knowledge?” Roberts prompted.  
“I was beaten and raped before being dumped at Constable Fraser's apartment building entrance. He found me soon after. I'm told I was put into a medically induced coma.” Meg looked out into the audience for Ben.  
“I've had months of physical rehabilitation and therapy. I was pregnant. I gave birth to my daughter three months ago.” That made Meg smile.  
“Do you still suffer from the effects of your attack?”   
Meg wished he'd drop the pitiful victim angle, it was starting to grate on her nerves.  
“There are the nightmares, panic attacks and doctors have told me that I'll likely develop severe arthritis.” She chose not to say anything about her paranoia or the sexual dysfunction she'd experienced.   
After a few more questions the defense attorney, a slim, young woman wearing glasses and a ballerina bun stood up and declined to question Meg; DNA being irrefutable evidence. When the judge released her, Meg gratefully stepped out of the witness stand. With a little hitch to her stride she walked back to Ben. Helen Hertz and Ray had joined him. Ben gave Meg a soft, fond look before a lightning fast wink and a smile. He knew how to make her smile. With a family like Ben and Alicia smiling came easier. Friends like Helen, Ms. Vecchio and even Ray made life brighter.  
“Let's go home,” Meg whispered. “It's finally over.”   
The End !!!!  



End file.
